4 M 






*;?i; 








',.'C}i i ‘ I' 'uiH’ f 1 ., 

' '■' * ‘ M I { I r i I i ’■*!''*''' t j I'l ■ ' W • ' . I ' !' I ' ! r ' i '■■ ■ *'*1 i 


J,.,' ») till ' I ! ! 1 ^' ' ' ' ' ■' * ■'' 




<1 ^ Li-t Miin ’ ■ ’ , KM o.ij ’ r 


-■'r; s;;:i"“4's3 
















a 


t 



a 


X 



» 




* 




I 


A 


\ 




; 



I 


4 


i 


r 


t 


t 






V 

< 


I 


1 


I 





» 


9 





Ji 




» 


t 


4 ' 







J 






% 


* < 


r 




Ji" 





f 


. V. V 


A 


• V 


« t 


* * '■ 


« 


% • 



"*i'I • 


I 






• » 


i - 


4 » 


\ 


t 

4 I 



i - 


i f 


S. 


* • 


%* 


I > ' 


i f 


f'f? 


I * 4 


V 

v» \ 

' ' > 


’i 




. M 


*♦ 




I 


> • 


-t. 


: :<v: 


. 




• 


a 

» 


' **-•*>. • , v>. 


1 I 


I « 




♦ ^ I 


I • 


rf* 



> 


I 1 


f 


I .. 


» 


'j\ 


VT 
^ C 


■ 

i-- - . . 




^ 4 


.i’ 




I V 


/ 

ft* 


» « 

I 


ft 


I « * 


, t 


, 9 



» 

I 


♦ < 


■•H i>’'i r 

iM': 

' '\y. • 


. V 


. 


« i 


u 


4 . 








\ WOMANS MISTAKE 

By Julius Chainliers 




A WALL STREET STORY 

Formerly Published Under the Title ON A MARGIN 


F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 114 Fifth Ave., New York 



NEELY’S 


Paper Cover, 25 Cents. 
Cloth, $1.00. 


POPULAR LIBRARY 

For Sale hy All Booksellers or Sent Postpaid to Any AddreiS 
on Beceipt of Price. 


SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT - Beatrice 

Harraden. 

dodo; a detail of the DAY-E. F. Benson. 

A HOLIDAY IN BED AND OTHER SKETCHES 

~ J. M. Barrie. 180 pages. 

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS; HIS LIFE AND 
VOYAGES— Franc B. Wilkie. 

IN DARKEST ENGLAND, AND THE WAY OUT 

—Gen. Booth. 400 pages. 

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN-Harriet Beecher Stowe, with 
author’s biography. 612 pages. 

DREAM LIFE-Ik. Marvel ^Donald G. Mitchell.) 

COSMOPOLIS— Paul Bourget. 

REVERIES OF A BACH ELOR-lk. Marvel. 

WAS IT SUICIDE ?-Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Author’s 
portrait, 

POEMS AND YARNS— James Whitcomb Riley and Bill 
Nye. Over 100 illustrations. 230 pages. 

AN ENGLISH GIRL IN AM ERICA-Talkilah Powell. 
‘ most charming account of the experience oi an English 
girl in America. 

SPARKS FROM THE PEN OF BILL NYE-192 pages 
of Bill Nye’s best stories. 

PEOPLE’S REFERENCE BOOK-999.999facts.208pages 

r^AHTHA WASHINGTON COOK BOOK-852 pages, 
illustrated, 300,000 sold. 

HEALTH AND BEAUTY-Emily S. Bouton. Contain- 
ing rules, which if observed, insure health and beauty. 
288 pages. 

SOCIAL ETIQUETTE -Emily S.: Bouton. "Manners 
make the Man.’’ 288 pages. 

LOOKING BACKWARD — An imaginary visit to the 
World’s Fair. Illustrated, 250 pages. 


F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 

CHICAGO and NEW YORK. 


NEELY’S 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents, 
Cloth, 31.25. 

LIBRIRY OF CIMHCE LITERaTURE. 

For Sale hy All Booksellers or Sent Postpaid to Any Address 
on Eeceipt of Price. 

THE ANARCHIST-Richard Henry Savage. 

HAWAIIAN LIFE! or. Lazy Letters From Low Latitudes 
—Charles Warren Stoddard. 

LOVE AFFAIRS OF A WORLDLY MAN-Maibelle 

Justice. 

LOVE LETTERS OF A WORLDLY WOMAN-With 

Prologue by Maibelle Justice.— Mrs. W. K. Clifford. 

ON A MARGIN— Julius Chambers. 416 pages. 

FOR LIFE AND LOV E-Richard Henry Savage. 

THE PASSING SHOW-Richard Henry Savage. 
DELILAH OF HARLEM-Richard Henry Savage. 
THE^ 'MASKED VENUS— Richard Henry Savage 

PRINCE SCHAMYL*S WOOING -Richard Henry 
Savage. 

THE LITTLE LADY OF LAG UNITAS-Richard Henry 

Savage. 

NANCE— A Story of Kentucky Feuds. Nanci Lewis Greene. 

MADAM SAPPHIRA — A Fifth Avenue Story. Edgar 
Saltus. 

ARE MEN GAY DECEIVERS ?- Mrs. Frank LesUe- 

With Author’s Portrait. ^ 

MISS MADAM -Opie Read, Author of “A Kentucky 
Colonel.” A most interesting book. 

THE FALLEN RACE— Austyn Granville. A strange nar- 
rative of the interior of Australia, far surpassing the most 
brilliant achievements of Jules Verne or H. Rider Hag- 
. gard. Beautifully illustrated with half-tone engravings. 
WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE-J. M. Barrie, Author of 
“The Little Minister,” “A Window in Thrums,” etc., etc. 
A YOUNG LADY TO MARRY, and other French 
stories — Claretie, Mariet, Guy de Maupassant, Coppee. 
Noir, and Greville. 320 pages. 

THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER -Edgar Fawcett, “The 
Bayard of American Fiction.” His latest and most pow- 
erful book, 

SWEET DANGER-Ella Wheeler Wilcox. The book of 
the season, 320 pages, beautifully illustrated with half- 
®^^^vings, with Author’s Portrait. 

BITTER FRUITS — Madame Caro. From the French. 

Illustrated with half-tone engravings. This is one of the 
. . powerful and realistic novels ever written. 320pages. 

L E y A N G E L I ST E— Alphonse Daudet— Translated by Mary 
Neal Sherwood. 320 pages, with half-tone engravings. 
REMARKS BY BILL NYE— Edgar Wilson Nye. Over 
600 pages, and 150 flue illustrations. The funniest book 
„ever published. Portrait of the Author. 

HYPNOTISM— Jules Claretie. 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisheri 

CHICAGO and NEW YORK. 


L 




A WOMAN’S MISTAKE 


FORMERLY PUBLISHED UNDER THE TITLE 

On a Margin 


Bv JULIUS CHAMBERS 

t \ 

AUTHOR OF ‘‘A MAD WORLD,” “THE DIPLOMACY OF 
JOURNALISM,” ETC. 


'^Thia is the Juniper Age " 



AUG P 6 ' 4-^6 


F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher 
New York 
1896 


•) 

5 o 

•i ^ 

» > 



Copyright. 1896 
BY 

F. TENNYSON NEELY 


v^v, ,.' ,, ^ ■ , . i^-., r * V . - • ,;;r 




PROCESSION OP THE STORY. 


CHAPTER 

♦ I. Mootla 9 

II. The Game of Life . .... 22 

III. A Bit of Delf 27 

IV. The Blot on the Escutcheon . . 33 

V. The Binomial Theorem. ... 46 

VI. That Prettiest of Songs ... 55 

VII. The Instinct of Trade .... 64 

VIII. Morton’s Co-efficient .... 70 

IX. A Woman’s Mistake . . . , . 82 

X. On the Xantasket Cliff ... 91 

XI. The Evolution of Iniquity. . . 105 

XII. A Dinner at “The Willows” . .116 

XIII. “Now!” 135 

XIV. Professional Platitudes . . , 148 

XV. A Day of Days 159 

XVI. The Estate of Politics . . . 166 

XVII. The Cat of Pharoah . . . .178 

XVIII. The Taint of Avarice . . .187 

XIX. On the Barbary Coast . . . 196 

XX. Taking a Great Loss .... 205 

(vii) 


viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

XXL A Blind Pool 220 

XXII. In a Tight Place 234 

XXIII. Thousands for an Inch of Time . 242 
XXIV. In the Gulf Stream .... 254 
XXY. Fall of a Pillar .... 263 
XXVI. The Law of Reprisal .... 276 
XXVII. The Branding Iron .... 283 
XXVIII. How A King Travels . . . 295 

XXIX. A Giant of To-day .... 309 

XXX. The Juniper Age 322 

XXXI. From the Grave 332 

XXXII. The Poi-onaise ..... 345 
XXXIII. Dobell Corners Himself . . . 360 

XXXIV. Mutiny Among the Wounded . . 369 

XXXV. Why “The Three” Never Met . 378 

XXXVI. Just the Man 387 

XXXVII. Too “Sanguine” BY Far . . . 395 

XXXVIII. True to Their Promises . . . 409 


On a Margin 


CHAPTER I. 

MOOTLA. 

Two miles from Cambridge, on the old Boston turn- 
pike, stood a country house of imposing size. A lawn, 
twenty acres in extent, surrounded the homestead, and 
behind it were three hundred acres of land under 
thorough cultivation. The grass plot was a place of 
beauty. So artfully were the oaks and elms disposed 
about the grounds that the sod never languished for 
sunlight, though every corner of the lawn’s expanse 
was under shade at some hour of the day. Along the 
l)anks of a never-failing stream, behind this rural 
picture, towered, high and gracefully, a row of willows 
— giving name to the property. The house was old ana 
gray. Its stone walls sprouted with moss. A gigantic 
arterial system of vine-stalks that traversed its sides 


10 


ON A MAJiOIN. 


snveloped the gables in lustrous verdure during much 
of the year. Here, at “ The Willows,” dwelt Cotton 
Mather, a Boston merchant, who loved his fireside and 
his country. Tall, broad-shouldered, and of fine pres- 
ence, his home life indicated that he carried his fifty 
years with a light heart. 

But the unques tionable head of this household was a 
young girl, occupying an anomalous position between 
a ward and an adopted daughter to the bachelor 
merchant. She was frail in figure. Her face was 
generally pale, though it sometimes became suddenly 
pink without apparent reason. She possessed eyes of 
peculiar brightness, that flashed anger or twinkled 
gentleness with fantastic irregularity. She was very 
young, bright, vivacious, prompt of comprehension, 
obedient under her patron’s will, though easily an- 
gered by trifles, and, when once aroused, repentant 
or defiant as the impulse served. Her beautiful hands 
were observed and remembered by all who saw her. 
They were slender, waxen, almost transparent, and she 
used them with unconscious grace. It was an idyllic 
poem to see her hover over a peeping rose-bud, as 
she struggled with an exaggerated sympathy for Nature 
that urged her not to pull it. 

Whence she came nobody knew save the head of the 
household. Child though she was, the girl had been 
discreet enough to foil all covert attempts to trick her 
of the secret. Carious as was the addition of a young 
girl to the bachelor merchant’s family, which liad includ- 
ed only an old housekeeper and a cook, not a breath 


ON A MARGIN 


11 


of scandal was raised. Cotton Mather stood upon a 
plane far above calumny. 

To friends who merited the confidence, he volunteered 
the statement that he had accepted the charge under 
circumstances of peculiar sadness and solemn obliga- 
tion. The frank and reverent tone in which this infor- 
mation was imparted always caused the conversation 
to take a new channel. 

lie stated the facts tersely. Two years before we see 
her at “The Willows,” Cotton Mather had taken the 
girl, ill-prepared as he was for the care, to his dingy 
apartment in one of the dullest streets of old Boston. 
At that time her education was as undeveloped as her 
figure. But a refined young woman had been secured 
as governess, and the improvement effected was a sub- 
ject of daily delight to the bluff merchant. Pupil and 
teacher became greatly attached to each other. The 
instructor essayed not to check the impetuosity of the 
girl’s nature, but to direct it in the channels of observa- 
tion and study. The highly imaginative mental organ- 
ism of the pupil was turned loose into the green pastures 
of art. Latent inclinations to volubility of speech were 
curbed, and her vocabulary was enriched with French 
verbs,- until she read that language of romance with 
comparative ease. Nothing in the way of instruction 
was accepted without argument, but once convinced the 
pupil never forgot. 

With the governess the question of the young girl’s 
place in the household never arose. Socially they 
treated one another as equals, and intellectually the 


ON A MARGIN 


pupil soon overshadowed the teacher in any attractive 
branch of study, however new or difficult. But there 
were others under the merchant’s roof with whom the 
struggle for supremacy was one of brute force against 
clever fence. 

The antique housekeeper had cared for Cotton 
Mather’s rooms and linen for many years. Naturally 
she expected co exercise a maternal care over the new 
member of the family, as she believed she did over 
the man at its head. She w'as not successful. The 
ward resented any exhibition of authority by the house- 
keeper. With Machiavelffin keenness she watched an 
opportunity in which to crush the presumptuous house- 
keeper at one blow. The chance soon came, and with 
it the prisis. 

Overhearing the woman refer to Mr. Mather as “the 
old doughface,” when giving her matronly instructions 
to the cook, the strange girl walked up and savagely 
slapped the housekeeper on the face. The act was so 
audacious that the humbled woman did not even report 
it to her employer. 

The strange girl captured her guardian’s sympathies 
by the ingenuousness with which she related to him her 
version of the scene. Doubtless the dethronement of 
the housekeeper inwardly gratified the merchant. 

“ She was calling a friend of mine a bad name and I 
punished her,” the young girl explained. 

“ Indeed !” — in amazement. 

“ Oh, it will not occur again. She will not repeat the 
offense.” 


ON A MAHOm. 


Mather’s first impulse was to severely reprimand 
his ward. But he did nothing of the kind. Cotton 
Mather, whose ships had often engaged the pirates of 
the Yellow Sea (under other sailing-masters) struck his 
colors without even sounding the call to quarters, and 
surrendered. From that hour the girl’s dominion in 
that house was uncontested. 

The mystery of her presence in the family was 
equaled by that of her name. This was a philological 
paradox — Mootla. It was of no consequence that the 
housekeeper argued with the cook that there was no 
such a name ; that only an imp could have received or 
a witch bestowed it. That was her only name. She 
had been christened Martha. Infancy corrupted this 
into Mattie. In childhood she intoned her name ac- 
cording to a quaint and charming euphony of her own 
by which it became “Mootla.” Thus alone did she 
speak of herself, and she affected not to hear when 
otherwise addressed. 

Cotton Mather tried to humor her in this whim as in 
others, but when the price of “No. 6, brown,” was 
dropping so fast as to threaten a panic in the sugar 
market, or a bing sent out to Bio with a light cargo re- 
turned in ballast, he was liable to spells of absentmind- 
edness. 

On one of these occasions this novice in raising chil- 
dren was suddenly awakened to, a realizing sense of the 
task he had undertaken. This is what happened : 

Cotton Mather one day met his little ward in the 
drawing-room just before dinner. Thinking it a good 


14 


ON A MARGIN 


opportunity to engage her in conversation, he addressed 
her several times, good humoredly, as he walked to and 
fro across the floor. 

“Do you still like the governess, Martha?” he 
finally said. 

“ No ! You mean, nasty old witch-burner !” she re- 
torted. 

Mather stopped as though he had been stricken with 
palsy. Then he looked toward the speaker in almost 
imbecile amazement. It w^as the first time he had ever 
been reproached for this name of his own selection. 

“ What — do you s — s — say ?” he found voice to ask. 

“ Why do you tease me then ?” 

“ Tease you ?” 

“Yes, me,” with emphasis. 

“ How ? When ?” 

“When you speak to me.” 

“ I never call you names.” 

“ You don’t call me anything.” 

“ Why, look here, my child ” 

“Now you say ‘my child.’ Are you, then, my 
father ?” 

“ No — no, indeed,” the man said slowly, and with a 
show of sadness. “ Call me Uncle Cotton.” 

“ Well, my name’s all I ‘have. lain only Mootla — 
that or nothing. A fatherless and motherless girl ought 
to have her own way in some things.” 

“ So she ought, I agree.” 

“ My good Uncle Cotton, you’re a dear fellow.” 

And she put up her pouting mouth for the seal of a 


OiV A 3IARGIJY. 


16 


treaty of peace. The same dark eyes that only a 
moment before were snapping with spiteful fire, beamed 
with affection. The struggle had been short, sharp and 
decisive. 

As the foster-parent gravely stooped and gave the 
token of forgiveness, he murmured for the first time : 
“Wicked little — Mootla. God bless her.” 

Then he walked the room some time in silence, while 
the young girl chattered about a picnic to the sea-shore, 
the distressing hoarseness of her pet mocking-bird, and 
the annoying habit of the cook’s eating all the jam and 
plum-cake. 

Good “ Uncle Cotton” struggled no longer, but, as the 
girl’s womanly instinct had foretold, obeyed her sugges- 
tions in household matters as implicitly as though he 
were a clerk in his own office. 

Soon after this episode, and chiefly on Mootla’s ac- 
count, he bought “The Willows,” where we find the 
family snugly domiciled. ' 

There was an unmistakable difference between Cotton 
Mather, head of the house of Mather, Sowers & Com- 
pany, ship-owners and merchants. Old Wharf Lane, 
Boston, and this country gentleman at “ The Willows.” 
In his business dealings with men or women he was 
master in any emergency. Women, in all walks of life, 
he avoided. Of Puritan blood, as his name suggests, he 
hated witches with pretty faces as sincerely as did his 
historical namesake. 

Cotton Mather had anchored in Boston more than 
twenty years before we met him. His boyhood had 


16 


ON A 3fAR0IN 


been passed at a village on the Hudson, known as 
Crumpet, a snug river-side community x)erched upon 
a bluff. Several generations of intermarriages had 
crystallized the Crumpet people into a frigid social 
equality. Everybody bowed gravely to everybody else, 
but there was little hand-shaking and less conviviality 
in the village. The ancestors of some of the good 
people had acquired by royal patent the land upon 
which much of the town now stood ; but as only a few 
of these could support their dignity except by the 
gradual depletion of their holdings, the sons of trade, 
and toil ultimately effected a lodgment and forced a 
capitulation. But the first families of Crumpet still 
figuratively carried their side-arms and maintained 
much of their haughtiness. Some of the intruders on 
the royal jireserves were families of wealth and influence 
superior in many ways to the original proprietors. 

The best known of these engrafted branches of the 
Crumpet social tree was the Rawson family. Just 
prior to the second war with Great Britain, the first 
Rawson came from New England and purchased from 
original grantees a large property «n the river-side, 
north of the then scattered hamlet. A large and com- 
fortable house rose on a well-chosen site, into which the 
family entered as soon as it was ready for occupancy. 
Whence they came, the Crumpet people hardly in- 
quired, until the Rawsons had become firmly fixed in 
their position. Then it was too late to ascertain. 
That they brought much money into the community 
was undeniable. Myles Standish Rawson was avidently 


OK A sVARGIN. 


17 


a man of great wealth, for every year of his life he laid 
out what was a large income at Crumpet in improving 
and beautifying his estate. There were boats at his 
jn-ivate landing, easily accessible from the lawn that 
sloped down to the water. In summer he made the 
house a bower of budding and blossoming plants. The 
winter-garden, connected with the building by a covered 
walk, was in its day the largest and best stocked in 
America. 

All incident during the war of 1812-15 must not be 
overlooked. Rawson was strongly suspected of Tory 
proclivities. Sentiment rose very high against the 
family at times. The -distrust was largely owing to the 
undemonstrative character of “ the Tough Old Raw ” 
— as he was not infrequently nicknamed. But he went 
about the village as usual. He drove out every pleasant 
afternoon, mingled with the people freely, but ’‘cut” 
every man who did not look him frankly in the eye. It 
was not until several months after the signing of the 
Treaty of Ghent that the truth became known. On 
the recommendation of President Monroe, Congress 
passed a vote of thanks to Myles Standish Rawson. In 
this testimonial he was thanked for his large contribu- 
tions of money toward the organization and equipment 
of the war vessels that rendered such efficient service 
for the cause of American liberty. 

Of course this discovery produced an instantaneous 
revulsion of feeling in the community. “ The Tough 
Old Rav/ ” became the passion-flower. lie was cheered 
as he passed along the street, and many men who hated 


18 


ON A MARGIN 


him worse than before vied witli each otlier in offering 
him public homage in repulsive quantities. Some con- 
scientious citizens, among whom, it is simple justice to 
say, were not a few who had been the most inexorable 
calumniators of the supposed royalist, deemed a frank 
confession of their long and unjust persecution due to 
Rawson. They organized a demonstration in his honor. 
But when the committee waited on that gentleman to 
acquaint him with its design he pronq)tly and firmly 
declined to sanction the project. His frigid politeness 
on that occasion congealed forever the spasmodic and 
short-lived respect and gratitude which the organizers 
of the public tribute imagined they felt. 

That such would be the case Myles Standish Rawson 
was far too keen an observer of human nature not to 
know. 

He did not need to be told that the man who thus 
rejects a tribute bringing more distinction to the givers 
than honor to the recipient inflicts a mortal wound. If 
the shrewd old man had cared enough about the inci- 
dent to express an opinion, he doubtless would have 
explained in his caustic way that he could not consent 
to permit his narrow-minded defamers to regain their 
self-respect so cheaply. 

Thereafter he was the most cordially disliked man 
in the community ; and the fact that he accepted a 
public reception from the Mayor of Hew York only 
heightened the local disfavor in which he was held at 
Crumpet. 

The rest of his career was wholly uneventful, though 


Oivr A maj^gin: 


19 


many years elapsed before his death. He left two grown 
sons, Richard and Cotton Mather, his wife having long 
preceded him to the grave. There was much disparity 
in years between the boys, which in the father’s will 
militated against the younger. 

Richard, the first born, had completed his studies at 
Columbia College. He passed much of his time in the 
metropolis, and was believed to be thoroughly familiar 
with his father’s vast business interests there. His 
parent seemingly manifested a partiality by bequeath- 
ing Richard the Crumpet homestead and the bulk of 
the estate. The will contained a characteristic injunc- 
tion to the elder son to sacredly guard the interests of 
the younger. 

Nobody understood the true reason for the discrimh 
nation. The fact was that old Myles Standish Rawson 
did not entertain as sincere a regard for Richard as fqi 
Cotton. The younger boy was quiet, self-reliant, and 
inclined to industry ; while the elder was noisy, flippant 
and unstable of purpose. Cotton was the old man’s 
type of an heir, but Richard was the elder son. Myles 
Standish Rawson had always retained an inherited 
respect for the law of primogeniture, and his latent ven- 
eration for the English right inspired the phraseology 
of his last will and testament. To this inequality 
of birthright public sentiment erroneously attributed 
the subsequent separation of the brothers. 

Young Cotton Mather disliked study. He went into 
trade and acquired a knowledge of bookkeeping at the 
warehouse on the wharf. His dream of life was to 


20 


Ojsr-A MARGm. 


marry the daughter of a respectable Crumpeter, and to 
pass the rest of his life in peace and comfort. He felt 
no enmity toward his brother, but rejoiced in Richard’s 
prospect of fame and popularity. 

An unexpected event changed the whole course of his 
life. One day his intended wife, Alice Dean, disap- 
peared. The river was dragged ; the country round was 
scoured in vain. 

Weeks afterward the wandering lover encountered 
the false girl in New York, whither she admitted, in an 
emotional burst of repentance, having fled with Richard 
Rawson, the brother who had affected the deepest 
sympathy. 

Heart-broken, young Cotton returned to Crumpet, 
packed his effects, and left, vowing never to return ; he 
stopped in New York long enough to gather up and con- 
vert into money all of his patrimony that was tangible. 
Thence he went to Boston, and into business cautiously 
and resolutely. He was soon forgotten at Crumpet, and 
for many years fancied he had effaced all recollection of 
it from his memory. So deep and lasting was his detes- 
tation for the family name that when of legal age he 
obtained the consent of the Legislature of the Common- 
wealth of Massachusetts to fling it aside. For all pur- 
poses, social and commercial, he shortened his name to 
Cotton Mather. 

The strangest part of this Crumpet mystery, when all 
is said, was its sequel ; for, after an absence of many 
years, the haughty Alice Dean returned to the village 
as the wife of a middle-aged and dissolute carpenter, 


OiV A MARGm. 


21 


She brought with her a young child, a girl. The family 
took a small cottage on the edge of the town, and the 
carpenter pretended to labor occasionally at his trade. 
All of the woman’s former friends passed her in the 
street ; but the wives, sisters, and daughters of the mill 
f people strove by every means to ingratiate themselves 
with “ Mrs. Alice.” 

She was a changed woman. Outside of her own house 
she rarely spoke unless it was to instruct or amuse the 
bright-eyed child constantly by her side. She resolutely 
followed the course of her life alone. 

A gradual decline in the prosperity of the family was 
noticeable. The husband became moody ; he talked 
and acted as if weighed down by some secret trouble ; 
his melancholy grew upon him until he died in his shop 
one day during a fit of delirium in which he killed a 
fellow-workman. The little girl was present, and saw 
her father die. 

After this calamity the widow’s prospects in life be- 
came very gloomy; her health was so bad that she 
could not work to provide food, and when, aftfir a 
severe struggle with privation she recognized her utter 
hopelessness, she sent a letter to the only man of whom 
she had no right to expect mercy, imploring a refuge for 
her child. She asked nothing for herself. 

The charge was willingly accepted by Cotton Mather. 
Eejecting all offers of personal support, the mother 
parted from her girl forever. Alone, she sought the 
oblivion of the county alms-house that she might there 
secure the solitude that was denied her elsewhere. 


CHAPTEE II. 


THE GAME OF LIFE. 

The secret of Cotton Mather’s success in trade was 
inflexibility of purpose. When he renounced his 
Crumpet home and name, he concentrated all his 
energies on the accumulation of money. Beginning as 
he did with ready resources in cash, twenty years had 
suflflced to make him rich far beyond his most ardent 
expectations. 

Like his father. Cotton Mather was enthusiastically 
loyal. He was blindly devoted to all enterprises, 
private or national, that upheld the interests of the 
Eepublic. This ruling idea had more than once 
brought financial success where disaster was presaged, 
and, though a heavy loser in several projects into 
which his patriotism led him, he floated in the mid- 
channel of the nation’s prosperity, and grew rich with 
the country’s development. His policy was a simple 
one. The controlling interest in one ship attained, a 
similar ownership in more than fifty others followed by 
the law of accretion. Next he became a shipper on his 
own account, and as his vessels increased in number he 
lengthened their voyages. Thus the flag of his house 

became known in half the ports of the world — India, 
22 


ON A MARGIN, 


^8 


China, and, after Perry’s treaty, Japan, yielding 
bullion to his bank account. 

Now that he had personally relinquished the search 
for the golden fleece to the other members of his house, 
Cotton Mather tried by every means in his power to 
make himself happy in this country life. 

About this time a very strange incident occurred 
at “The Willows.” The master of one of Mather, 
Sowers & Company’s East India ships, remembering 
that his principal had retired to a pastoral life, secured 
at Calcutta, after great difficulty and personal hazard, a 
remarkable present — a sacred cow. The pretty, sleek 
animal was safely landed at Boston, and was installed 
at “ The Willows.” Early on the day after her arrival, 
the cream-colored beast was tethered in a shady part of 
the lawn, and browsed contentedly on the short grass. 

Mootla’s first knowledge of the animal’s arrival was 
when “good Uncle Cotton” (in the language of their 
compromise) invited her to walk, and led her to the 
side of the Indian cow. He told her something, too, 
about the sacred regard in which the animal was held 
by the people of India, though the information imparted 
was probably neither full nor accurate. Mr. Mather, 
no doubt, repeated, as nearly as his memory served, 
what he had learned from the ship-captain. 

Mootla’s curiosity was excited to the highest degree. 
The governess was appealed to, and before a week had 
passed every accessible source of information was ex- 
hausted. It became the girl’s fancy to pass hours on 
her knees before the sacred beast, as she stood with 


u 


ON A MARGIN. 


solemn complacency and regarded the little devoteO 
from the depths of great brown eyes, suffused with 
curiosity and interest. On one of these occasions the 
animal approached more closely, and finally placed her 
mouth gravely against the forehead of the kneeling 
neophyte. 

Mootla believed herself transformed. Hardly more 
than a child, she imagined herself a Brahminical vestal 
— creating the new and holy office that she might serve 
in it. After “ the moment of the blessing,” as she de- 
scribed the salutation, she worshiped all Nature in the 
person and form of the sacred cow. 

As her knowledge increased, so did Mootla’s fantastic 
zoolatry. By degrees the girl comprehended the dignity 
with which Brahmanism has invested the cow. Where 
she finds full appreciation, no place is forbidden her. 
She takes rank abovd many castes of men. Princes 
may be deposed, but the cow of Hindostan has her altars 
in a thousand temples for ever, and arrogates to her- 
self the central dignity in a religion with two hundred 
million believers. When unsentimental Cotton Mather 
recognized the oddity of his ward’s freaks and began a 
remonstrance, Mootla checked him in an abrupt man- 
ner. The episode took this form : 

“ When will you cease this nonsense ?” asked the 
merchant, taking a risk at war rates, in the hope of re- 
establishing his lost authority. But the words evoked 
an unexpected rejoinder. 

Mootla gazed at him seriously for a fraction of time, 
and then retorted : 


ON A MARGIN. 


25 


“ What do ymi know about the mystery of Nature ?” 

“Stuff ” 

“Didn’t you lose a game of cards to a hog, my good 
uncle ?” she asked, in her most provoking manner. 

This sudden reference to a confession which the staid 
Cotton Mather had once made in her hearing of his ab- 
ject defeat at a game of euchre by “an educated hog ” 
named “ Wicked Ben,” covered the shipping merchant 
with confusion. 

He recalled the circumstances perfectly. It was an 
incident of his active life “ on change.” He had been 
put forward one day as the representative of a jolly 
party of merchants, who had met in the back-room of 
a fashionable restaurant near the Exchange for the pur- 
pose of testing the wonderful talent of the animal. 
Intent on the frolic, the merchants had drawn lots as 
to who should be their champion against the hog. The 
honor had fallen to Cotton Mather. Great care had 
been taken to prevent collusion between the animal and 
his keeper, but the defeat of the merchants’ champion 
in a game of euchre had been unequivocal. 

After going over all these facts in his mind. Cotton 
Mather replied : 

“True, my dear child. I have done considerable 
thinking since that day.” 

“So one might have supposed,” was the C5mical 
answer of the girl. 

“ He who has not been outwitted by a hog,” said the 
merchant, solemnly, “knows little of the mystery of 
life — for life is a game, at which the swine often win.” 


ON A MAROIN.^ 


‘‘ To-morrow will be the festival of the sacred cow, 
my dear Uncle Cotton. You will join in it, of course ?” 
she said, abruptly diverting the theme to a new channel. 

She dwelt with marked emphasis on the hailing sign 
of the peace covenant entered into on the day of her 
first triumph over her guardian’s alleged strong will. 

And, ludicrous as the scene appeared, Cotton Mather 
formed part of a small group of persons that stood with 
bared heads while the little priestess fed the cow an 
offering of salad and sprouts out of the merchant’s 
paper basket. The animal was crowned with a wreath, 
and her horns were festooned with ribbons. It was a 
scene of stupendous sanctity. Cotton Mather had treated 
the idiosyncracies of Mootla lightly prior to this time, 
but he now began to understand the difficulties of the 
task he had set for himself. 

In desperation he hit upon the thought of sending 
Mootla to the school of Professor Morton, in a neigh- 
boring village. lie reconsidered all his ideas about the 
value of home education, and confessed that he had 
been pursuing the very course that would increase 
Mootla’s distemper. She needed change of scene and 
associates. But, when the scheme was proposed to 
Mootla, she made it a condition precedent that she 
should live at home, and be driven to and from the 
school each day. 

To these terms the merchant yielded without a word 
of argument. Arrangements were made to place 
Mootla in one of the best private schools in the com- 
monwealth. 


CHAPTER III. 

A BIT OF DELF. 

A BOY in his teens was leading an old woman by 
the hand. His face was earnest and thoughtful, its 
pallor indicating much weariness of body. But in his 
eyes shone the warm sympathies of youth — so pure and 
fresh in hearts unscarred by contact with the world. 
His head was without covering, for the woman wore 
his hat. Her hair hung about her neck, unkempt, and 
prematurely gray. Her eyes were dull and sunken, 
and at times her face, picture as it was of grief and 
loneliness, shivered with sudden pangs of pain. 

Once the boy staggered and fell from sheer fatigue. 

This mishap disclosed a strange bond of unity be- 
tween the twain. A yard’s length of rusty chain 
linked the woman’s ankle with a billet of wood which 
the boy bore in his arms. 

Whither this couple, in the golden and earthy age 
of life, journeyed neither knew. But all the resplen- 
dent radiance of an autumn sunset could not dispel the 
gloom that gathered in their path. The leaves, of 
orange hues and red, aimlessly drifted by the light, 
warm air, arranged themselves on the turf in patterns 

that rivaled the weaver’s handiwork, but these lone 

27 


ON A MARGIN 


•^8 

plodders struggled on, unconscious of the forest’s love- 
liness. Alien are Nature’s beauties, garish her har- 
monies of color, when misery makes the meeting-place. 

Since morning they had been on the march. The 
severity of the walk told greatly on the boy, but, 
child though he was, his energy never flagged. During 
the long day the woman’s heart had sounded all the 
semitones in the gamut of emotions. Influenced by 
hope, she gladly hurried the pace ; in moments of des- 
pondenc}’ she moved with faltering step. 

In the fitful glint of fading day these two travelers 
gained the summit of a hill. The boy, peering ahead 
down the slope, was listening intently. On the rocky 
banks of a small stream, whose gurgling voice ascended 
from below, an anvil could be improvised, thought he, 
on which to break the woman’s fetters ! With this 
purpose they slowly descended the knoll. 

Ever thoughtful of his charge, the young leader saw 
that her manacled ankle was swollen and bleeding. 

They were strangers. She did not know the boy ; he 
knew not her — they were only fellow-mortals. 

Seated at the foot of a tree, the woman vacantly 
gazed into the distant gloom, while the boy resolutely 
strove to break the chain on a boulder by the side of 
the creek. 

Undaunted by non-success, forgetting the darkness 
overhead, in the glow of his youthful heart this boy 
still plied the blows as the group merged with the 
shadows and became a part of the night. 

A few hours passed. 


ON A MAROIN. 


29 


All the bells of Crumpet were wildly clanging. The 
warm air of an “Indian summer” night , blowing 
up from the Hudson, mingled their tones in mad 
discord. Lights were reappearing in all the houses 
of the town. Its quiet streets were full of people 
hurrying to the court-house in response to the midnight 
summons. 

A hoy of the village was missing. He was the only 
child of Richard Rawson, who had gone to the woods 
nutting early in the day and had not returned. Search 
parties were organized, the neighboring country was 
portioned among them, and, on horses and afoot, they 
set out. A liberal reward, offered by the Rawson 
family, so stimulated the quest that it was prosecuted 
through the night. 

A party of three workmen employed in one of the 
river-side factories came upon the missing boy about 
daybreak in the heart of a large forest tract known as 
“ Staunton’s Wood.” He was discovered asleep on the 
turf by the side of Blue Jacket Creek. Near by, at the 
foot of a tree, sat an old woman, wrinkled and. gray. 
The horse of the leader of the party stumbled over a 
billet of wood to which was attached a battered chain. 
Boy and woman awoke and sprang to their feet. 

“Why, lad, the whole village is seekin’ ye,” said a 
workman. 

“Go back and tell my father that I will return as 
soon as I have found this lady’s child for her. I — we 
are not lost.” 

“Yes, good sir,” began the woman, coming forward. 


30 


ON A MAH Q IN 


“ It is true. My little girl is gone from me, and I want 
to see her before I die ” 

“ Grab-a-root ! It’s Mrs. Alice,” exclaimed one of 
the search party who hadn’t spoken before. 

“ Only let me see her, good gentlemen,” the affrighted 
woman supplicated. “ I ask no more.” 

The workmen whispered together. One of the party 
knew that a reward was paid by the overseer of the 
poor for the return of fugitive paupers. They had 
bagged two rewards at the same time. The wretched 
woman read the secret in their hearts. She became 
almost frantic in her appeals for a longer lease of liberty. 

“ Anywhere, but not there. Do not send me back to 
Hopewell,” she entreated, in pitiful accents. “I have 
suffered so much. Let me go forward alone, if the boy 
must go back. Let me walk, and walk, and walk.” 

“Where is the girl ?” asked one of the men, some- 
what affected. 

“ I can’t remember. I gave my girl to somebody. 
When I missed her I escaped from the farm. But I was 
recaptured, and I was chained to the floor of my room. 
After months of probation the staple was drawn, only 
to be driven into the end of a block of cord wood. This 
was the wildest liberty.” 

“ Then she fled once more,” suggested the boy, to 
hasten the progress of the story which he had heard in 
all its details. 

“ Again, with my girl for a guiding-star, I escaped to 
the woods one night,” continued the woman, hardly 
noticing the interruption. “ For ten days I was free, 


OiV" A IfARGUSr. 


31 


though T dragged the log as I ran. Sleeping in the 
shadows of the forest by day, with this silent, insepara- 
ble companion by my side ” — here the woman advanced 
and placed her foot upon the wooden block now severed 
from her — “I wandered onward by night, hopelessly, 
aimlessly seeking mercy but never finding it. Starva- 
tion forced me to apply at a farm-house for food. There 
this speechless demon clinging to me disclosed the 
world’s verdict. Mute as it was, it gave the hailing- 
sign of woe and anguish. The fraternity of man re- 
jected the appeal. I was dragged back, despite my 
prayers and pleadings, to the squalor and wretchedness 
I had fled from. Now, men, I am free — doubly free. 
This boy has saved me, and has piloted me thus far 
toward my child. I met him at the almshouse-gate 
yesterday. I told him my griefs. He aided me to 
liberty at once. Can you, as men, do less ?” 

“ Will you help her ?” asked the boy. 

“Indeed, we will,” the workmen answered, with a 
significant interchange of glances. 

Under renewed hope, the trembling woman permitted 
the men to place her on one of the horses, and, as the 
sun began to shine through the trees, the small proces- 
sion started townward. The route lay past Hopewell 
House — why so called none can tell. 

The building was a two-story brick structuie. A few 
scattered graves were seen in a small and neglected 
apple-orchard at one side of the gateway. How appro- 
priate this act of placing the potter’s-field at the en- 
trance to a pauper’s dwelling-place . Despite the pro- 


32 


ON A MARGIN. 


test of her young champion and the delirious struggles 
of the frantic woman, the runaway was delivered back 
to the keeper of the poor. 

When the boy saw the futility of further remon- 
strance, he turned to the men and said : 

“ But for you, cowards, she might have been happy.” 

The staple was replaced in the floor of Hopewell 
House, and a few weeks of untold misery brought the 
sorrows of “ Mrs. Alice ” to an end. Near the gateway 
somewhere she was buried. 

This incident, to the village mind so commonplace, 
gives to Walter Kawson the mint-mark of a hero. 
Worthy point at which to begin the story of his life, 
for in these years of grace the requisites of a hero are 
in dispute. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE BLOT ON THE ESCUTCHEON. 

It was a raw and boisterous day in March on which 
Richard Rawson, son and heir of sturdy Myles Staudish 
Rawson, died at Crumpet of the rheumatic gout. He 
was not an old man, but the bother of living had worn 
him out. 

Little as the community had cared for the man, the 
importance of his death upon the interests of the village 
was not to be overlooked. The surviving members of 
the household evinced the deepest sorrow, and the local 
undertaker was instructed to give the dead man a 
funeral worthy of his race. 

The family carriage was sent to meet the boat from 
New York on the second morning after the decease of 
Mr. Rawson, and it returned to the house of mourning 
with two men differing widely in appearance. 

The elder of the visitors was Cotton Mather. Though 
he had been gone so long from Crumpet, there were 
those at the steamboat-landing who recognized his- 
face; but none spoke, though he had gone away with 
universal synipathy on his side. 

The younger person wore a suit of black broadcloth 

that did not fit him. His bearing was supercilious. 

33 


34 


ON A MARGIN. 


He was the picture of a man of the world traveling at a 
reduced rate. It was evident that these mourners ar- 
rived together by accident. As a matter of fact, they 
had met on the boat. 

When they alighted at the side veranda, overlooking 
the water, the family’s butler met them, and led the 
way to the spacious drawing-room where the body of 
the deceased had been placed. The visitors approached 
Walter, who stood, with haggard countenance, at the 
side of the bier. 

“ Is this Walter ?” asked the elder man, half doubt- 
ingly, as he scrutinized the face of the fine-looking lad, 

“Yes, sir,” was the prompt reply. 

“I sympathize with you, my dear boy,” said the im- 
passible uncle, taking the hand of the youth, who 
looked him frankly in the eyes. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“ Do you know me ?” 

“Ho, sir ; I do not think I do.” 

“ I am your father’s only brother.” 

“Mr. Cotton — Mather?” exclaimed Walter, with 
a trace of doubt or suspicion, quickly withdrawing his 
hand. 

“ The same. When did Richard go ?” 

“ Father died, sir, at sunset on Monday,” was the 
slow and respectful rejoinder. 

Turning to the companion who had arrived with him, 
the merchant said : 

“ You know Walter, Sam ?” 

“I have seen him at the bank,” answered Samuel 


ON A MARGIN. 


35 


Catesberry, cashier of the Limestone Bank, of which 
the deceased had been president. 

The studied formality of his uncle recalled to Wal- 
ter’s mind the only previous occasion on which he had 
seen him. On one of the rare visits to the city with his 
father, he had been seated in a window of the presi- 
dent’s room at the bank. This man before him, whom 
he now knew to be Cotton Mather, his uncle, had sud- 
denly entered in response, apparently, to an urgent 
summons from the chief officer of the bank. 

The scene between the two brothers recurred to the 
boy’s mind vividly. 


“The bank must have one hundred thousand dollars 
before three o’clock,” exclaimed Mr. Eawson, in an un- 
natural, hopeless tone. 

“ Did you send for me to say this ?” 

“We must have it,” with the firmness of despair. 

“Well, borrow it!” The great, broad-shouldered 
man, pale as marble, turned toward the door, when the 
bank president clutched him desperately by the arm as 
he entreated : 

“Save us! We can’t borrow. You can spare it. 
Save me ” 

“ Are you crazy ?” 

“ If the bank fails, as it certainly will, we’re beggars 
— my wife, my boy ” 

“ Stop I Don’t talk to me of wife or child I” 

“ But you’ll help me ?” 

“No.” 


36 


ON A MARGIN 


“ Then our last resource is gone.” 

And the banker retreated, and sank into his chair 
aghast. 

The stranger turned again to go, took two steps, then 
stopped, and facing the prostrated man said slowly and 
with icy formality : 

“The bank shall have the money. I yield, because 
my contempt for its president is of no ordinary kind. I 
scorn to take advantage of the usual methods to square 
a deadly injury.” 

Abject humiliation appeared in every line of the 
banker’s face. 

“ How can I thank you ?” 

“You can’t! I want plenty of collateral, and the 
best. Kemember your word won’t answer for its char- 
acter. I must finger the papers myself.” 

“ But I must express ” 

“Less you say the better. Send the securities to 
the Ocean Bank in half an hour. I shall be there.” 

Then the stranger vanished. 


The tyrant in this scene, which had haunted his 
youthful mind* like an ever-enduring nightmare, stood 
revealed before Walter as his uncle. 

The visitors ceased speaking together as a tall, closely 
veiled ligure entered the room. The uncontrollable 
evidences of agitation exhibited by his mother at the 
sight of her brother-in-law confused Walter still more. 

Mrs. Rawson had no difficulty in recognizing the mer- 
chant, having been apprised of his presence in the house 


' ON A MARGIN. 


37 


by the butler. Indeed it was the widow who had sent 
him word of his brother’s death. 

The opportunity to bridge over an awkward situation 
was seized by the elder visitor. He bowed, and said 
with dignity : 

“We meet, madam, under circumstances of great 
sorrow.” 

There was a caution and yet a treaty of peace in that 
simple sentence as he intoned it. Hardly waiting for 
the widow’s reply, which was inaudible to him, he 
crossed the social chasm at a bound : 

“Sister Mary, I want to' present Mr. Catesberry of 
the bank, who is here as the official representative 
of the board. My sister, Mrs. Rawson — Mr. Cates- 
berry.” 

“ How kind of you, sir, and how thoughtful of the 
directors to ask you to come to us in our deep afflic- 
tion,” said the widow, casting aside her veil. 

Cotton* Mather looked upon the face of his dead 
brother’s wife for the first time. She was a Crumpet 
woman. Her features were regular, her skin was fair, 
and her eyes sought his with a keen, searching look 
that was meant to ruthlessly drag from him the real 
secret of the family feud. That she knew not the 
truth the merchant satisfied himself at a glance. He 
saw that he was in the presence of a woman of sensitive 
pride, weak resolution — save in great emergencies — and 
timid personality. 

Meanwhile, the cashier was saying : 

“The board, madam, deskes to convey through me 


88 


ON A MARGIN 


its deepest sympathy for you, madam — and your family, 
madam — in your distress, madam. Personally, as an 
intimate associate of your late husband, madam, I beg 

to add my condolence to theirs ” Indeed, there is 

no telling how long Catesberry might have continued 
to stammer over his speech had not the afflicted lady 
shown signs of bodily collapse by suddenly sinking into 
a large chair near her. 

“ Thanks, many thanks,” she murmured. Then, re- 
called to the presence of the dead, she began without 
looking at the visitors : 

“Poor, dear Richard. This great blow came so Sud- 
denly. I saw very little of him during his last sickness, 
being so ill myself and closely confined to my room ; 
but now that he is gone, now that I have lost him for- 
ever — poor Dick ! — he appears to have had so many 
good qualities, to have been so essential to our very ex- 
istence, that I blame myself for not having appreciated 
fiim better.” The distressed woman closed the sentence 
amid sobs. 

Cotton Mather was a close observer of the scene. He 
ended the mental soliloquy in which he had indulged 
with his own particular pet phrase — “And so it is.” 
What he meant neither his words nor face betrayed. 

Mannerisms are natural phenomena, curious and in- 
explicable. Psychology does not account for these ec- 
centricities of speech. 

“You must be careful of your health, sister,” he went 
on to say. “It’s a raw morning outside ; very liable to 
give one a cold, There’s considerable malaria about,” 


ojv^ A MAnom. 


39 


“ So our family physician said,” she rejoined. 

Doctor Conway had cautioned the good woman 
against shock to her nervous system. So strictly had she 
followed the physician’s advice that when her maid ran 
to say that Mr. Kawson was breathing his last, she 
took the precaution to send the girl back to the doctor 
to ask if, in his opinion, the final scene would be par- 
ticularly harrowing. Kichard Rawson had hastened to 
take advantage of the delay, and died before his wife 
came. He had such a coward’s fear of death that he 
hated to have an3'^body see him die. 

The two visitors regarded the widow in silence. A 
conjunction of these men in that room resembled no 
natural phenomenon so nearly as the temporary associa- 
tion of two erratic stellar bodies that at long and ir- 
regular intervals approach each other without meeting. 

Samuel Catesberry was not especially schooled in the 
proprieties of the occasion. Who was he, anyhow ? 
Mr. Mather knew as’ much about him as anybody, and 
that was very little. In his favor it was to be said 
that he had risen in a few years from the position of 
bookkeeper to that of cashier in one of the largest 
banks of the American metropolis. Despite his decla- 
ration to the widow, he was only slightly acquainted 
with the deceased bank president. Like the other em- 
ployes of the institution, he had disliked its chief. His 
ideas of social propriety were about as clearly defined as 
his conceptions of integrity". He believed himself honest 
and hoped to remain so. He reasoned from experience. 
Observation had taught him the danger of doctoring 


40 


OJV A MAUOm. 


ledgers and cashbooks. He was aware that every spe- 
cies of hank irregularity heretofore tried had proved a 
failure. He was too “practical ” a man to be caught 
doing wrong. Therefore, he was extremely useful, even 
valuable, in his place, and was likely to remain just 
that kind of a person to the day of his death, provided 
no shrewd scoundrel of congenial mind succeeded in 
mastering his confidence. 

So narrow is the path that many men walk between 
the strictest integrity and that temptation which, if en- 
countered, will certainly lead them to crime. 

While Cotton Mather made no special claim to an 
appreciation of the niceties of the social world, Cates- 
berry could on occasion be at his ease in a drawing- 
room ; but only so long as he was able to control the 
ever-present iinpulse to be a snob. He owed his place 
to Cotton Mather, who had taken his measure several 
years before, under the following circumstances : 

On a very slight business acquaintance, Catesberry 
had gone to the shipping merchant in his Boston office 
for a letter of introduction to the now deceased presi- 
dent of the Limestone Bank, in Hew York, and had, 
after some delay, secured the following characteristic 
note : 

“ Richard Rawson, 

President of the Limestone Bank, New York : 

“ Dear Sir — This will be handed to you by Samuel 
Catesberry. He is an experienced bookkeeper, and as 
honest as is necessary. I think he will suit the directors 
of the Limestone Bank. He ought to, for he is quite as 
great a cad as you are. Cotton Mather.’* 


ON A MARGIN. 4l 

'I'he bluff Bostonian had dashed the note oft’ while the 
would-be clerk waited, and, after merely glancing over 
it to see that the words were correctly spelled, had 
handed it, unfolded, to Catesberry. 

He read it carefully ; then, holding the sheet hori- 
zontally, he said calmly : 

“ Sand it, please.” 

Cotton Mather, who had disliked the young man up 
to that moment, admitted himself beaten in impudence, 
and confessed that he “ never had seen anything neater 
in trade ” than the nonchalance with which Catesberry 
shook the extra sand off the page, remarking : 

“Many thanks. Couldn’t ask anything better. You 
evidently love me as a brother.” 

Then he bowed and departed, with the letter of intro- 
duction in his pocket. 

“Bless my soul,” commented the merchant. “I 
mistook that fellow for a fool.” 

Catesberry went much 'further. He actually pre- 
sented this phenomenal letter, and obtained the coveted 
desk in the Limestone Bank. Curiously, too— how in- 
explicable are the freaks of human nature ! — Cotton 
Mather exerted many influences unsuspected by the 
beneficiary to advance this young man for whom he felt 
no liking. 

This was the extent of their acquaintance prior to 
meeting on the boat. 

The conversation between the widow and brother-in- 
law was interrupted by the arrival of the rector and a 
few of the villagers, who had been selected to bear the 


42 


ON A MARGIN. 


pall. Catesberry slipped out of the room, and slowly 
walked back and forth on the porch, affecting a demure- 
ness he certainly did not feel. 

The funeral service occurred in the afternoon, and 
was very brief. After a short prayer with the family, 
the rector preceded the body to the church, where a 
large congregation had already assembled. 

Walter, attired in deep black, assisted his mother to 
the family pew, followed at a respectful distance by 
the dead man’s brother, and the official representa- 
tive of the bank. Still further behind came the family 
servants. 

All being in their places, amid solemn silence through- 
out the gathering the rector read the sublime service of 
the Church of England. 

At the conclusion, the body was borne down the aisle 
and to the open grave not far distant in the yard. Not 
, until young Walter was observed standing apart from 
his uncle, on the brink of the gaping tomb, did the in- 
terested villagers learn that Mrs. liawson, the widow, 
had been sent home in a condition of complete prostra- 
tion, attended by her physician and maid. 

Samuel Catesberry returned to New York on the 
night boat, but the elder visitor showed no inclination 
to accompany him. 

He knew of a sacred obligation which his dead 
brother owed a living creature, and he clung to a hope 
that it had been recognized. To the end that the 
family might be reunited, he established friendly rela- 
tions with the widow. He ministered to her comfort in 


OK A MAR G IK. 


43 


every way, disclosing many of the admirable traits of 
character hidden in his usually gruff exterior. After 
the funeral he became a different man. The name of 
the dead was spoken with respect, and he made a 
sturdy effort to gain Walter’s affection. 

The second day after the funeral, the will of Richard 
Rawson was opened in the presence of the family 
lawyer. Its terras were simple in the extreme Every- 
thing real and pt^rsonal was bequeathed to Walter, with 
a life interest in the Crumpet estate to the widow, and 
a fixed income to maintain it. Apparently the will 
contained no charitable legacies. At the end of the 
testament, in the handwriting of the devisor, was a 
codicil setting apart “ the sum of $50,000 in trust to his 
brother, Cotton Mather, alias Rawson, to be applied by 
him to such use as he might see fit to make of it.” The 
trustee, so designated, was to be exempted from giving 
any bond or accounting to the court for the disburse- 
ment. 

On the evening of that day, which was to be his final 
one at Crumpet, the uncle so far overcame Walter’s 
dislike as to secure his company for a walk along the 
river. 

It was a mild evening, and the twilight being just 
sufficient to obscure the opposite shore-line of the Hud- 
son, awakened in the senses the effect of looking out 
upon a dreary inland sea. 

Reaching a jutting headland, the elder man sat down 
and motioned his young companion to a round-topped 
stone near by. 


44 


ON A MARGM 


“ Let us rest here, Walter,” he began with marked 
hesitation. “ I think I have something to say to you.” 

A violent struggle was going on in the speaker’s 
brain. Clearly he was either unable to decide on his 
conduct, or, having resolved, he was not able to justify 
his course with his conscience. 

He had intended to tell Walter the bitter story of his 
humiliation, but could not begin. After a few minutes’ 
silence, the great broad-shouldered man rose to his 
full height, seized a large boulder, raised it above his 
head, and cast it far from him into the murky flood. 
Then he said abruptly : 

“ My brother— your father — did me a cruel injury. I 
had intended to tell you the means he used, hut I find 
that I have buried my wrongs in his grave. I realize 
to my surprise that I have forgiven him. I had vowed 
never to see Crumpet again. Now that I am on this 
shore, every inch of which is sacred to my boyhood, I 
I want to offer you my sincere friendship.” 

“ I have not asked it, sir,” rejoined the young man, 
almost with rudeness. 

The towering form of the man quivered under the re- 
Duke, hut he allowed it to pass unnoticed, and continued 
with an earnestness that was awe-inspiring : 

“Walter, I believe in the wrath of Heaven; and 
though I never have wished it and would prevent it, I 
feel sure it will seek you out. So far as a human creature 
may, I would stand between you and the vengeance of 
an unforgetful Providence.” 

But what if I decline 


OK A MARGIN. 


45 


“Do you, though ?” 

“I neither accept nor reject your offer, sir. I shall 
wait and see,” saying which the young man rose and 
led the way back toward the house. 

A heavy fog lay dark and sombre over the river’s 
tide, so oppressive that not tne tiniest wavelet rippled 
shoreward. 

In silence this couple traversed the road up the 
sloping lawn. Their minds were intently occupied. 
In Walter’s the query was : 

“ What did he intend to say ?” 

In Cotton Mather’s a clearly defined doubt took this 
form : 

“ Ought I to have spared him ?” 

The good-night greetings were soon after said, and 
the usually clear-headed merchant, taking his candle, 
sought his bed-chamber in a most preoccupied condi- 
dition of mind. 

Alone in his old room, the one he had occupied as 
boy and man, he packed his grip-sack for departure on 
the following morning. Then he prepared himself for 
rest. 

As he blew out the candle and gathered the cold, 
clinging linen about, his neck, he sighed, and sighing 
murmured : 

“ Poor little Mootla — God bless her.” 


CHAPTER y. 

THE BINOMIAL THEOREM. 

The carriage was ordered earlier than usual at “ The 
Willows ” one morning. When it came to the door, 
Cotton Mather appeared, followed by Mootla. She was 
charmingly dressed, though her skirts were a trifle too 
short for a girl of her age. This peculiarity of her 
clothing was characteristic of her, for she ran like a 
deer about the lawn, climbed trees and fences, and 
could ride any horse that could be bridled. She had 
resisted all efforts of her companion, the governess, to 
embarrass her movements with long petticoats. Every 
act of hers had some trait of femininity in it, however. 
She never evinced any disposition to play ball, or 
marbles, or to whistle. She had no hoy playmate to 
imitate. When she climbed a tree, it was to rock in 
its topmost branches the hydrocephaletic doll she con- 
stantly lugged about. When she vaulted over a fence, 
it was in her motherly instinct for. the welfare of a stray 
rabbit, chicken, or Guinea-pig. She was thoughtful 
and constant in her care, and gentle in her treatment, 
of the wretched doll and sun-blistered cow of Hindoo- 
stan. But all these diversions had paled, and she was 
about to try the school-room as a novelty. 

The carriage rolled out along the smooth avenue to 
46 


ON A MARGIN ' 


47 


the main road, where the team settled into a dignified 
trot. 

“ I think you will find it very pleasant at the profes- 
sor’s school^” the good merchant volunteered. 

“ Shall I tell you the truth ?” the girl asked, with an 
arch expression in her eyes that would have melted an 
ogre. 

“Certainly, my child.” 

“Well, then, I don’t care whether I like it at Mor-. 
ton’s or not. I have a purpose in going.” 

“You have, eh?” exclaimed the man, surprised and 
interested. 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“And what may it be, pray ?” 

“ Please don’t ask me until I’ve looked the place 
over. Then I’ll tell you.” 

“The professor is very clever,” suggested Mr. 
Mather, feeling his way carefully forward into the con- 
versation. 

“ So I am told.” 

. “He encourages his. pupils to study by many ingen* 
ious and happy ways peculiarly his own.” 

“Pshaw! I hate study. I’m not going there to be 
‘ a bump on a log.’ ” 

“What ?” 

“‘A benchy’ — a book browser.” 

“ Why do you go, then ?” 

“Ah! that’s the secret, my dear, sweet man,” shft. 
said, realizing that she was cornered. “That’s what 
you are not to ask me,” 


48 


ON A MARGIN 


“ Ver}’’ well, Mootla,” answered the merchant, draw* 
ing a cigar and lighting it. 

, He then relapsed into a mental calculation of the 
future course of the cotton market. 

His reverie was interrupted when the carriage turned ' 
into the grounds of the Morton Institute of Social and 
Polite Learning. 

Miss Mootla was introduced to the genial old profes- < 
sor, who had a slight acquaintance with Cotton Mather. 
The real head of the school, Mrs. Morton, was sum- 
moned, and after a somewhat lengthy conversation be- 
tween that lady and the prospective pupil, Mootla was 
enrolled. Cotton Mather drew his check for a year’s 
tuition in advance, and, after a few words with the 
good gray professor, joined Mootla in the carriage. The 
new pupil was to begin her attendance on the following 
morning. 

“ Was everything satisfactory ?” asked the merchant, 
as the carriage rolled homeward. He was in excellent 
spirits, and half inclined to joke with his young ward. 

“Perfectly,” she rejoined. “‘They are there.” 

“ Who are there ?” 

“ The Wharton girls. They have bored me for 
months about this school,” said Mootla, frankly. “ I 
wanted to be sure they were on the roll.” 

“ Why, my child, you have not begun to doubt hu- 
manity already ?” 

“ Oh I you innocent man. Don’t you know that all 
girls love to lie ? It’s part of their nature,” 

“Indeed, I didn’t know it,” 


ON A MARGIN 


49 


“ Then it’s because you’ve never been a girl.” 

“ Suppose we admit that. What about the Wharton 
girls ?” he asked, almost afraid of some new pitfall. 

“They talk of nothing but this place. ‘Professor 
Morton does not agree with Dr. Silliman ; he believes 
thus, and so,’ the big, scrawny girl chattered a few days 
ago at Kadney’s,” and she imitated the unfortunate 
lisp of the young woman to a nicety. “ Then the other 
pigeon-toed fright generally chimes in, ‘ The Professor 
is right, you know.’ ” 

“ Is it as bad as that V” 

“Worse. They carry it into religion; even quote 
the Bible, and say, ‘ Professor Morton partly agrees 
with Paul, or Matthew,’ for instance. I want to 
learn something, so I can crush them the next time 
they -talk so.” 

“ You evidently don’t love the Wharton girls ?” 

“No, indeed ; and I’ll smash them.” 

“ And this is your ambition ?” 

“ It’s my present purpose in life.” 

Then the occupants of the carriage relapsed into 
silence. 

The title of the school was its trade-mark. This in- 
stitution 'at South Andiron had been patronized for 
many years by families in the neighborhood of Boston, 
who could pay the exorbitant rates which guaranteed 
its social exclusiveness. Its pupils included day and 
resident scholars, and while the standard of the curric- 
ulum was not higher than at other schools, the Morton 
Institute deservedly ranked well for the training its 


50 


ON A MARGIN. 


pupils received in the usages of good society, and the 
delicate forms of culture that group themselves under 
the head of belles lettres. On the door-plate, instead of 
the name of the estahlishment, was graven the maxim 
of its chief. The words were : “ Study is everything.” 
But the good professor often explained that he inter- 
preted the noun in the sense of “observation,” rather 
than in the abstract sense. 

The building was a large, and probably the best pre- ' 
served specimen of Queen Anne architecture then 
standing in this country. It had originally been the 
homestead of a large estate, now comidetely disin- 
tegrated. Interiorly, it differed in almost every respect 
from the traditional young ladies’ seminary. The cen- 
tury that had passed since the house was built had 
wiped out all traces of its original embellishments and 
decorations, but the repairs had been regularly and ju- 
diciously made, so that the restorations carefully pre- 
served the harmony of the whole structure. The small 
property on which this grand old house stood at this 
time was held in trust by a Boston corporation, and so 
obliging was the administration that the rent barely 
paid the taxes and cost of repairs. 

Professor Hector Morton, Ph. D., who presided over 
this school, was a man of broad culture, considerable 
dignity and of charming manners. In stature, he was 
tall and well shaped. His hair and beard were white, 
and kept closely cropped. At first sight he might have 
been taken for an East India officer. Methodical to 
the verge of eccentricity, he never lost his temper far 


ON A MARGIN. 


51 


enough to condemn the absence of the same trait in 
others. Although a diligent student of science, he was 
exceedingly fond of the social life existing under his 
roof. 

Ilis wife was a prim little body many years his 
junior. She fully recognized the necessity of her pres- 
ence to give propriety to the Doctor’s position as an in- 
structor of young ladies. In her way she certainly was 
invaluable. Her name found place in the catalogue as 
“ Professor of Household Art,” and her management 
of the kitchen and bakehouse had tended quite as much 
as the learning of Doctor Morton to create the splen- 
did reputation which the school possessed through- 
out Xew England. Her breakfasts, dinners and teas 
were exhibitions of liberality, as well as of culinary art. 
In the history of the place not a scholar had ever writ- 
ten home in complaint of the food. 

Girls at boarding-schools are always hungry. Mrs. 
Morton knew this, admitted it, and provided plenty to 
eat. In some respects she was fastidiously neat, but 
her cleanliness was generally of the sensible, practical 
kind. She visited the kitchen early each morning, ex- 
amined personally the pots, kettles and roasting spits. 
She never tolerated a slovenly servant, and insisted 
upon the utmost care and skill from the waiting-maids 
in placing the djshes upon the table. Bells were never 
rung in the building. A maid knocked at each door 
when the hour for rising, or dining, or supping arrived. 
The family party assembled in the drawing-room, and 
no one went to dinner until all were present or had 


52 


oiv " A margin: 


sent excuses. Mrs. Morton’s duties gave her much 
real pleasure. She performed them with all the grace 
and dignity of a matron charged with the social future 
of a housefull of daughters. 

It had been intimated that Doctor Morton had a 
theory of his own regarding education. His was an at- 
tractive as well as practical idea, and its feasibility was, 
evidenced in the many years of thorough trial it had had. 
In his opinion a school should present the closest pos- 
sible similarity to the home of thoroughly relined and 
educated people — men and women who lived abreast of 
the age. 

Every social courtesy of the family was observed at the 
Institute.- Erom the moment of matriculation to the 
hour of graduation the young lady pupils were treated 
precisely as guests on a visit to the house of a friend. To 
Dr. Morton the rostrum, the form, and the recitation 
by class were abominations. He abolished them, and, 
indeed, every other conventionality of the traditional 
school. The drawing-room, where the pupils generally 
assembled when the weather was not warm enough to 
meet in the yard, or on one of the wide porches, was a 
model of taste. Its easy chairs and sofas were not 
placed in the same positions two days in succession, and 
the young ladies, as they entered, took seats wherever 
they pleased. A rich Axminster carpCt covered the 
floor. The walls, repainted every season, were that year 
of a pearl-gray tint, with heavy maroon freize and a bot- 
tom selvedge of the same color. They were beautified 
by etchings and photogravures of many famous pictures 


ON A MARGIN 


d3 

of the day. This discrimination in favor of faithful re- 
productions of the work of master hands as against 
equally cheap “originals ” by unknown artists indicated 
the theory on which the school was founded. Nothing 
inferior was permitted to find place among the appoint- 
ments of the institution. These pictures were fre- 
quently changed, so that the eyes of the seminarians 
never grew tired. In one end of the apartment stood a 
Parian marble cast of the Milo Yenus, and at the 
other a similar copy of the Belvidere Apollo. So firmly 
was a love of art for art’s sake implanted in that house, 
that prudery never entered. 

When the teacher appeared among the scholars, he or 
she took any chair that was vacant. Especial care was 
taken to eradicate from the pupil the declamatory style 
of recitation. The conversation was carried on natur- 
all}^, and all present were at liberty to take part when 
others were not interrupted thereby. Public rebuke 
or censure was never administered, emulation being 
(vholly relied on as the spur to intellectual activity. 
Yhen a pupil answered incorrectly the instructor 
*5imply disagreed with her and stated the other side, 
offering suggestions that often encouraged original 
.research. 

Life at the Morton Institute of Social and Polite 
Learning passed as smoothly as summer weather. It 
was an earthly state in which heart and body were con- 
stantly revitalized. The example of the active little 
woman who acted as Professor of Household Art suf- 
ficed tq prevent indolence in any forna. 


54 


ON A MARGIN. 


The good old professor was the only person under 
that roof who did not enjoy peace of mind. He had 
what his wife described as “a persistent and vexa- 
tious intellectual relish for experiment and invention.” 
When the house was quiet he always retired to a 
work-room in the rear of his study, and light generally 
streamed from its windows until long alter midnight. 
In that place the professor had fitted up a lathe, and 
the noise of filing sometimes kept Mrs. Morton awake. 
Beyond this she was wdiolly uninformed regarding the 
task at which her husband was employed, for when she 
besought him to share the secret of his labors with her, 
he always answered seriously : 

“Be patient, my dear; I’m solving a -Binomial 
Theorem.” 

Then the gentle woman lost her temper and left his 
presence abruptly. 


CHAPTER VL 

THAT PRETTIEST OF SONGS. 

Among the most exclusive of the original Crumpet 
families was the Vreelands. Its people had been 
Crumpeters for more than a hundred years, and it was 
affirmed that an ancestor of the line came to Kew 
Amsterdam with Governor Stuyvesant. 

Tlie living head of the family still had his homestead 
at Crumpet, but he had a city house in New York also, 
to which he carried his wife, children and servants 
every winter. In the metropolis Peter Yreeland was 
widely known in society. He had a box at the opera, 
was booked for every first night at each of the fashion- 
able theatres, and drove one of the handsomest teams 
seen during the sleighing season on Broadway or the 
King’s Bridge road. 

The jealous Crumpeters still claimed the Yreelands 
as part of their community. Yillagers are generally 
avaricious. They hold on to what they once possess of 
local renown or wealthy people. They lament the mi- 
gration of any member of their community who reduces 
the circulating mediurn. But they are equally as unfor- 
giving toward any man who has spent his early life 
among them only to make new social alliances in his 
days of wealth and renown. 


55 


ON A MABGIN. 


b6 


The Yreelands dated their line far back of the Eaw- 
sons. They even spoke of them as new comers. No 
two families could have been less alike than these. 
Both were large land-owners ; both were wealthy. 
But there the similarity ended. The Kawsons, father 
and son, had been tradesmen, and though Kichard Baw- 
son had attained the presidency of a city bank, he con- 
tinued to manage the half dozen business enterprises 
with which his name was connected. He was the 
largest shoe manufacturer in that State, having exten- 
sive shops at Cohoes, Crumpet and Poughkeepsie. He 
was special partner in one of the greatest dress goods 
houses on Worth Street, and in a leather firm in the 
Swamp. His name did not appear among the directors 
of a single benevolent institution. Charity with him 
began at home and ended there. 

Peter Yreeland despised trade. His principal reason 
for the feeling was not so much family pride as uniform 
ill luck in every commercial transaction, outside of real 
estate purchases, into which he had entered. So long 

% 

as he continued to reinvest his rents in city lots he 
rarely saw his values depreciate ; but the moment he 
ceased to buy real property he bought experience. 
His family was one of the very few among the original 
Crumpeters that never had parted with a single square 
foot of his possessions. His agents in the City of New 
York gathered rents on more than one thousand dwell- 
ings and shops. He subscribed to every charity ; not 
because it made him happier to give the money or he 
cared for the object aided, but because he wanted to 


OiV^ A MAUffm 57 

show his contempt for a few dollars. He made small 
loans to his friends for the same reason. 

As may be imagined, therefore, the coming of the 
Vreelands to Crumpet eveiy spring was an event of 
much local importance. A delay of one week in its 
return made the small tradespeople nervous and exact- 
ing with their perennial customers. 

There were several children in the family, but only 
one of these concerns this story. She was the youngest, 
the child of old age — Yiolet. She had been born at 
Crumpet sixteen years before we first see her, and had 
always been referred to as “the little country girl.” 
Walter Rawson could not have told when he first 
knew her. They had met as children at every birthday 
party given during each summer season, and his claims, 
as her protector and companion, never had been dis- 
puted by any of their playmates. Every winter they 
were separated — only to' be reunited when the grass 
was green and the sun was warm. From early youth 
the winters had been bleaker and the summers brighter 
to them than to most children. 

Only the merest bowing acquaintance existed between 
the Rawson and the Yreeland families. The local 
prestige of the Rawsons, however, was such that the 
childish intimacy could not be objectionable to any girl’s 
mother in Crumpet. The two families, nevertheless, 
affected to be oblivious as to the sociability between the 
boy and girl. 

Such was not the case with Yiolet ’s mother. She 
had carefully informed herself regarding the Rawson 


58 


ON A MARGIN. 


estates. Genial, even-tempered Peter Yreeland frankly 
confessed to his wife that he respected his neighbor, 
because of the beautiful site -the Kawson mansion 
occupied. It was the worship .of money. There is 
no title to wealth like that which the possession of 
real property gives, and in the eyes of Father Yree- 
land the broad acres of the Rawson domain nulli- 
fied all the tattle that floated about the village regard- 
ing the occasional scantiness of ready money in the 
Kawson household. It was known that Walter had 
inherited everything belonging to the estate, and Mr. 
Yreeland w^as far too sensible a person not to compre- 
hend that this fact would render the young man wel- 
come in any household in Crumpet. 

It has of late years become quite the fashion to cast 
ridicule at youthful love and sentiment-. This is often 
a mistake. It certainly was in the case of Walter and 
Yiolet. The mutual delight in each other’s company, 
as children, had grown into ardent devotion. Whether, 
as a young girl, Yiolet was wholly unsuspicious of the 
tender sympathy which Walter manifested for her. 
Heaven — where alone women are understood— will re- 
veal. Her simplicity and artlessness had not been 
changed by her city life. Her enjoyment of the hours 
and days passed with Walter was unmistakable. They 
kissed each other at meeting and parting with a na'icete 
that disarmed ridicule. It had been their custom for 
years. As moves the current of a meadow brook, un- 
ruffled but always onward, had glided those unreckoned 
days of awakening love. And this is the passion of 


OJV A MARGIN. 


youth that has no formal recognition among adult 
humanity I 

It was in the middle of May. The afternoon boat 
from New York was overdue, and when it was sighted 
rounding the bend in the river below the village, nearly 
the entire community had assembled at or near the 
landing. It was the day on which the Yreelands re- 
turned to Crumpet for the season. Walter Rawsoii 
sprang aboard the steamer to welcome Violet, whom 
he had already recognized standing on the upper 
deck. The Yreeland family received him with cour- 
teous formality ; but Violet, being the centre of so 
many eyes, could only return the warm pressure of his 
hand. 

Mr. and Mrs. Yreeland drove up the hill to the home- 
stead in the family carriage awaiting their arrival ; 
but Walter and Violet preferred to make their way 
in the same direction more slowly on foot. Walter 
told her, in a few brief sentences, of his joy at her 
return to Crumpet, and Violet as frankly confessed 
her happiness at rejoining him. He told her of the 
long and dreary winter, of the ice-boats on the river, 
of the strike among his cobblers, of a smash upon 
the railway. While he rattled on she watched him, 
hearing little of his story, caring nothing for the ice- 
boats, ignorant of the wrongs of cobblers, heedless of 
the terrors of the rail. Her thoughts were busy. 
Never doubting that he loved her, she turned at nearly 
every step, and gazed into his manly.face with girlish 
rapture. 


60 


On a MAUGiit. 


When he spoke about the future, his were words of 
earnestness. First, of himself. The winter had been 
passed in diligent preparation, with a tutor’s^ help, for 
etrance to Harvard the coming autumn. Far away, 
he would often write her. He hoped to rejoin her 
here at Crumpet every summer. This, to her, was a 
theme of interest. Hot a syllable escaped her, not a 
promise of the future but was treasured in her heart. 

The young lovers made the road to the Yreeland 
mansion as long as possible, and separated with reluc- 
tance at the door. 

Whatever may have been his intentions when they 
parted, Walter could not keep away from the girl he 
loved. He re-entered the grounds about the homestead 
after dusk, rang the door-bell, and asked for Violet. 
Her mother received him, and offered some excuses. 
A young girl needed rest after such a journey. 

Walter stated his case with considerable firmness for 
so young a man. With more frankness than he could 
have been capable of had he been older, he pictured 
the desolation of the village when Violet was away, 
and the happiness her return inspired. 

“The dear girl can rest all day to-morrow,” he 
began. 

When this point in the colloquy was reached, Violet 
came bounding down the stairs and into the room. 
Walter rose quickly, and she checked herself almost 
within his embrace. Blushing slightly she held out 
her hands, and '^Valter seized them. . Without a trace 
of awkwardness, Walter took Violet impulsively in his 


OK A MAH OIK. 


61 


arms and kissed her. Then he remembered that 
Mrs. Vreeland was in the room. He was doubly sure 
of it. because she coughed and beat her fan impatiently 
against her knuckles. The act was so bold, so de- 
fiant, that the mother was secretly delighted with 
the young man, though she tried very hard to frown. 
Violet was first to recover her self-possession. This 
open recognition of Walter’s claims made her cour- 
ageous. Before Mrs. Vreeland had found her voice, 
Violet asked permission to walk with Walter about the 
grounds ; and, as if insubordination had run riot, she 
seized her hat and hurried out of the door. Walter 
lost no time in joining her, and, watched by the 
matron through the open windows, the young lovers 
strolled away into the moonlight, arm in arm. ' 

Mrs. Vreeland sighed as she realized the import of 
what had just occurred before her eyes. Already Violet 
loved another better than her mother. ' 

“Do you really miss me during your winters in the 
city?” Walter asked, tightening his pressure on the 
arm which was linked within his own. 

“ I certainly should were it not for that mysterious 
institution called the United States mail. I bless it 
every time your greeting comes.” 

They walked slowly, for they had so little to say and 
so much to think about. Walter noted every change of 
tone in Violet’s voice, and where the trees were thickest 
and the moonlight scarcest he held her closest, that she 
might not be afraid. Finally he burst out in the rap- 
turous words ; 


0 ^ 


ON A MARGIN, 


“You are the prettiest thing in this world.” 

“I’m glad you think so, Walter,” was her answer. 

“Sweeter, prettier, too, when you blush.” 

“But I’m not blushing.” 

“You did a minute ago.” 

“Well — every girl blushes when kissed in her 
mother’s presence.” 

“Why should she? Our mothers have all been 
kissed.” 

“ But they are dreadfully in the way when a girl has 
a lover — the best of them.” 

“ Still you’re not angry with me for what I did ?”. 
and he moved a trifle closer that he might not fail to 
hear her reply. 

“Ho, indeed,” she exclaimed, her heart beating so that 
every nerve in her body thrilled with joy. “ It was the 
proudest moment of my life.” 

“Bless you for that,” exclaimed Walter. “Forty 
mothers couldn’t have stopped me.” 

Violet’s was a simple heart. She knew nothing about 
“destiny,” never had heard the word “fate,” but saw 
life only as it unrolled itself before her narrow and im- 
perfect vision. 

The same bell on the court-house that years before had 
been rung to call the villagers from their beds to search 
for him, was striking some hour when Walter brought 
Violet back to the front porch. In the light of the hall 
lamp she looked more beautiful than she had ever ap- 
peared to AFalter’s eyes. 

They bade each other “good-night,” but Violet 


ON A MARGIN 


63 


stood at the open door and watched Walter’s retreating 
figure until it could no longer be separated from the 
gloom. The memory of each other kept their hearts 
warm that night. 

What a pretty song is youth i 



If. 



CHAPTER YII. 

THE INSTINCT OF TRADE. 

A PART of New York did not grow cosmopolitan 
with the rest of the city. Its small tradesmen have 
been for half a century conservative and cautious. 
“ Enterprise ” they decried because it was so often 
synonymous with “ failure.” Bankruptcy was to their 
minds the unpardonable offense. A trace of super- 
stition also existed among them. They shunned, as 
accursed, a “stand” in which disaster had overtaken 
a shopkeeper. On its door-posts gleamed the insignia 
of financial death, and the mark, invisible to the world 
at large, was carefully pointed out by the father to the 
son who was to succeed him. 

Recall the region bordering the North River to and 
including Greenwich Street, and stretching from the 
great city market northward to Harrison Street. Save 
that a few large wholesale grocers and tobacconists 
have located among the petty shopkeepers, the section 
is much as it has been for three generations. But 
the new-comers are a foreign population, ignored even 
to this day. The natives and their descendants cling 
like barnacles to their original freeholds. 

Eor the accommodation of this class the Limestone 

Bank had been founded, and the scrupulous integrity of 
64 


ON A MARGIN. 


65 


its officers had established it in the confidence of the 
most suspicious and mercenary community that the sun 
shines on. The fact that its officers were rarely men of 
popularity outside the neighborhood increased the feel- 
ing of security among the depositors. For them to be 
satisfied was enough. 

The prejudices and superstitions of the locality have 
been mentioned. An interesting example may be cited. 
It was conceded' for instance, that an eating-house (the 
word “restaurant” has never been engrafted there) 
could not “live” at Greenwich and Fulton Streets. 
However much these shrewd people may have differed 
among themselves regarding politics, or religion, or the 
keeping of the odd half cent in retail trade, on this one 
point perfect harmony of belief existed. 

They reasoned from experience, and stated their 
premises with all the accuracy of the founder of that 
school of logicians. Experience had grown with years. 
Failure after failure had occurred in this locality. In 
some cases the shops had begun buoyantly, in others 
hopelessness had been confessed from the start, but the 
climax had always been the same. Of late years there 
seemed to have arisen a passion to feed the people of 
the neighborhood. With some it certainly was a dream, 
an infatuation— just as the unattainable often is. 

An honest fellow named Anderson devoted every 
dollar bequeathed him by a sturdy parent to the self- 
sacrificing undertaking. But, beginning as proprietor, 
he ended by becoming head waiter to his successor, 
who took the place for debt. Less theoretical and 


66 


ON A MARGIN 


fully cautioned as to his task, Warnap, the assignee, 
lowered the moral tone of the business by adding a bar, 
reduced the prices of his dishes and the quality of his 
food ; but in a few months his notes went to protest. 
These obligations were held by persons in other parts 
of the city, for still another bond of freemasonry existed 
here. 'However much the tradesmen cheated their 
customers or undersold each other, no credit was ac- 
corded “to the man at the corner.” The dairyman 
was the only person who took any chances, and he 
“ johnnied ” the milk in the expectation that he would 
lose a week’s bill when the crash came. 

Thus had local history vindicated itself until the 
mere appearance of a stranger before the closed doors 
of the disastrous “stand” evoked nods of distrust be- 
tween one tradesman and another. The house had 
been closed several months, for the proprietor had eaten 
strychnine on his last chop, broiled over his last bucket 
of coals. 

The sensation may be imagined when, one spring 
morning, a pleasant-featured man of middle age was 
seen inspecting the place. A murmur of suspicion at 
once ran through the street. The tradespeople, emerging 
from behind their counters, stood in their doors to look 
him in the face. His appearance was reassuring, and 
not a little sympathy was expressed for*the new comer 
when it was known that he was both a stranger to 
the city and the locality. Everybody, even to the 
house agent who had the premises to rent, pitied the 
man, 


OW A MARGIN. 


67 


The stranger apparently cared not for his neighbors’ 
curiosity. He was evidently a cautious man. He ex- 
amined the exterior of the building from the edge of 
the sidewalk ; he ascended to the upper floors, and even 
to the roof ; he descended and critically calculated the 
capacity of the cellar. The poverty of the fittings in 
the restaurant did not seem an object of particular in- 
terest. Indeed, it was known before nightfall that he 
had said to the clerk, who had shown him over the 
building, “ Many changes must be made.” 

Mr. William Gilroy (that was the stranger’s name) 
made his bow to the neighborhood ; he walked up to 
the front window^ and tore down the placard : “ TO 
LET.” • 

Naturally enough Gilroy’s stability was distrusted. 
The carpenter, who was summoned on the following 
day to refit the building, called in several assistants 
and finished the job with the greatest despatch in order 
that he might ask for his money while the new propri- 
etor’s purse was full. To the journeyman’s surprise his 
account was paid promptly, although he had charged 
double the usual price in the fear of having to take a 
large balance in instalments. 

The painter across the thoroughfare (for Gilroy be- 
lieved in utilizing the mechanics of his neighborhood) 
gave the interior of the chop-house a new coating of 
paint, and was paid before it dried. 

These facts, once well authenticated, were gratifying 
and inspired confidence. 

Within a few days the most enterprising butcher in 


68 


ON A MARGIN. 


the neighborhood called to pay his respects, and finished 
by asking if he might not execute the orders of the es- 
tablishment for meat. The offer was accepted, but 
coupled with the particular injunction that “ bills must 
be rendered every Saturday.” , 

Such was the magic of these words that they were 
soon known to every tradesman on the street, and Gil- 
roy’s fame and credit rose in proportion. 

The house was opened in a style that caused all his 
neighbors to marvel. Prices were reasonable — even 
low ; everything was good, well served, and the busi- 
ness throve from the first day. Expenses had no terror 
for the new and enterprising proprietor. 

And now, as to the man himself. Gilroy was exceed- 
ingly companionable. He made friends even faster 
than he appeared to be making money, and the direc- 
tors of the Limestone Bank (owning the building Gilroy 
occupied) were delighted that they had secured a tenant 
financially safe and practical in his management. Gil- 
roy even became intimate with the cashier of the bank, 
a very capable man named Samuel Catesberry. 

Every Sunday morning found Gilroy at the neighbor- 
ing church. The minister bowed to him, and the 
wardens gave him a smile of friendly recognition — he 
always plac(id money on the plate. He was not one of 
those persons who to-day put a trade dollar in the con- 
tribution box, which passes for a hundred cents with 
the Lord, but is good only for eighty-five with their fel- 
low-men. He often gave gold— gold that rang and glit' 
tered, 


ON A MARGIN. 


69 


The improvements in the house continued. So poorly 
was the cellar arranged for storing away vegetables that 
Gilroy called in a carpenter, whose shop was near by, 
and had two strong partitions built entirely across 
the cellar. When this work was completed the nar- 
rowness of the cavity formed between the two walls 
suggested to the proprietor its conversion into an ice 
bin ; and, as a matter of fact, on the following day he 
ordered the sawdust in which the coohng substance was 
to be packed. 

The building around the corner, on Fulton street, the 
rear of which abutted on the one occupied by the res- 
taurant, contained a liquor saloon on the ground floor, 
a billiard room on the second, and a dancing academy 
on the third story. This place became very offensive to 
Mr. Gilroy. So, after some delay, he secured the unex- 
pired term of the tenant’s lease and closed up “ the den 
of iniquity.” 

This act of Mr. Gilroy was very satisfactory to the 
respectable neighbors. The bank officials were de- 
lighted, for, by this act, a growing fear that they had 
entertained regarding their sporting neighbors of the 
bar and the billiard-room was banished. The name of 
Gilroy, in a few short months, became a tower of 
strength, and the trustees slept more soundly now that 
his holdings enfolded their property — for the bank 
building was the corner one. In all his dealings Gilroy 
acted honorably, and fully deserved a title bestowed by 
his familiars— “ Sanguine Billy.” 


CHAPTEE Yin. 

MORTON’S CO-EFFICENT. 

A WHOLE book might readily be written of that sum- 
mer in Walter’s boyhood at Crumpet. He met Violet 
nearly every day, and so ingratiated himself with her 
parents that he was invited to join them in a coaching 
tour through the Catskills. 

When the Autumn came, Walter began his prepara- 
tions for leaving home. He fully realized the import- 
ance of the step he was about to take. He foresaw that 
it meant farewell to Crumpet and to the idyllic life he 
had led among its people. His destination had been 
settled for more than a year, and his preparations for 
the entrance examinations at Harvard College were 
ample. His father’s education had been completed in 
New York, but Walter, practically his own master, had 
chosen the older institution at Cambridge. The chief 
pang he felt at going away from Crumpet arose from a 
recognition of the lonely life he foresaw his widowed 
mother would lead. 

Walter’s last day in his native village was devoted to 
taking leave of everybody whom he respected. Late in 
the afternoon he visited the shop of a carpenter on the 
brow of the bluff overlooking the river. Honest old 
Solomon Adam was found pushing a plane, just as he 


Oisr A MAUam, 


n 


had been doing since Walter’s earliest recollection. 
Youth and age parted in tears. Thence Walter de- 
scended the hill to the round house and shook the hard 
hand of John Bowcher, an engineer, who had often 
taken him short trips on the railroad in the cab of his 
locomotive. This man’s words were warm and com- 
forting, for though he had passed into middle life, he 
was unconscious of the approach of age, and had not 
awakened to the ever-present admonition of the old 
that the grave awaits them. In his heart, Bowcher 
was quite as young as Walter Bawson ; so they parted 
with their thoughts centered on meeting again. 

The new student from Crumj)et appeared at Cam- 
bridge, bright and happy as a homesick man could be. 
He was only one of two hundred young candidates 
among whom he was in no wise prominent. lie 
awaited the decision of the oracle with less anxiety 
than many others, and was not surprised to learn that 
he had been gazetted a full grade Freshman. Walter 
was not the youngest in his class, having turned 
eighteen before he began his university career ; but he 
had the advantage of thorough preparation, and as a 
result, the end of the first term found him holding a 
reasonably high rank among his fellows. 

In the same floor of his dormitory dwelt an upper 
classman, between whom and Walter an acquaintance 
soon sprang up. The frankness, manliness, and inde- 
pendence of character which Jack Burnaby displayed 
made him universally respected. He was the son of 
one of the greatest men Kew York has produced ; a man 


12 


ON A MARGIN. 


who, though he amassed a splendid fortune, left his 
indelible impress on the nineteenth century. He de- 
veloped in the brief space of twenty years one of the 
most successful commercial enterprises in the new world. 
He lifted the daily newspaper out of the rut of a 
political tender and dilletante profession to the higher 
plane of independent mercantile supremacy. He added 
a dignity to the press of the United States that it never 
had known, when he propounded his now familiar 
apothegm : 

“The greatest newspaper is the one most independent, 
most trusted, most profitable, widest read, and soonest 
forgotten.” 

With his active advent into journalism, the press 
ceased to be a means of subsistence for broken-down 
professional men and persons who had failed in trade. 
It required, thereafter, the keenest ability to keep 
abreast or lead in the competition which grew with the 
art of making a newspaper. 

It is not of this commanding achievement of the great 
Burnaby that we wish to speak in this place, but of the 
good man’s strong paternal instinct — (blessings on the 
paternal instinct !) He had attained success long after 
middle life, when ambition has cooled, and when the 
true man loves life for his children’s sake. Burnaby 
had only one object for living longer; namely. Jack. 
The son was about through with his studies, and ex- 
pected soon to succeed to his father’s fame and fortune. 

Young Burnaby was all fire and dash. He was pas- 
sionate and quick to resent a slight. Born to a name 


Oir A MARGIN. 


73 


that was a household word throughout the land, he had 
more vanity than his friend Kawson, hut less ambition. 
Rivals they could not be considered, because of Bur- 
naby’s seniority in class rank ; hut young RaM’-son felt 
that he should one day have to confront this brilliant 
companion of his when he entered upon active life in 
the metropolis of the new world, where Burnaby’s 
position was already an assured and commanding one 
by birth. They became in time close friends, and as 
they possessed ample incomes, enjoyed college life as 
thoroughly as possible. 

After some thought, Walter one day sent a note to 
his uncle’s business address in Boston, acquainting 
him with his presence at Harvard. The next mail 
brought an invitation to the young student to pass 
the following Sunday at “ The Willows.” Mr. Mather 
drove into Cambridge for his nephew in his own car- 
riage, and* as they returned along the hard, macadam- 
ized road leading to the merchant’s country house, 
Walter was astonished to find that his relative lived 
only a few miles from his dormitory. Until he had 
learned that the merchant went to Boston from a rail- 
way station on another line nearer his home, Walter 
could not understand why they had not encountered 
one another before. 

The distance was soon traversed behind the hand- 
some team of bays, and the visitor saw for the first 
time the stately mansion and smooth, green lawn at 
“The Willows.” Entering the broad hallway, the two 
men were met by a tall, dark-eyed young lady. The 


74 


ON A MARGIN. 


visitor had only time to observe that she was dressed 
in simple yet perfect taste, before his uncle said : 

“ This is my little Mootla.” 

No further introduction was given ; hut it was enough. 
She knew who he was, and Walter bowed low in an al- 
most boyish manner. He was surprised, and in a fog 
of doubt. He had never heard his mother speak of this 
girl, and he know that his uncle was unmarried. Wal- 
ter looked at Mootla carefully. She was not little any 
longer, and the use of that adjective by his relative 
meant nothing, except that there had been a time in 
which she was “ his little Mootla.” 

Her face was uncommonly fair, and the contrasting 
blackness of her eyes and hair gave her a strangely at- 
tractive, though at times weird, appearance. The 
mouth was small, with lips slightly pouting, and her 
cheeks dimpled when she smiled. In her favorite pose 
the shoulders were thrown back and the fingers of her 
narrow, tapering hands interlocked behind her neck. 
This seemingly awkward attitude was in her one of un- 
conscious grace, and effectively displayed the supple- 
ness of her arras, the elbows becoming a casque-like 
protection to the shapely head. To gauge her intellect- 
uality it was necessary to know her — as we shall. 

Walter was charmed most of all with her off-hand 
welcome. Her perfect self-possession never suggested 
the shghtest degree of rudeness. She delighted in argu- 
ment for controversy’s sake. There was a frankness 
about her speech that won respect. She was not 
ashamed to say “ I do not know.” She never hazarded 


ON A MARGIN. 


•75 


an opinion without some tangible evidence before her. 
On a theme that was agreeable very little sufficed to 
arouse her quick and impetuous mental activity, when 
she would discourse in a charming vocabulary on art, 
religion, science, or even politics. 

As mistress of the house, Mootla saw that Walter’s 
room was put in order, and having gathered a handfull 
of flowers, awaited his appearance on a shady corner of 
the porch. During the afternoon they strolled together 
about the grounds. Being joined by the master of the 
house, this scholastic novice retailed some bits of col- 
lege gossip that highly amused the sedate merchant. 
Tlie dinner was a dainty affair, served in the brightest 
end of the great, sim-lit dining-room, on a round table 
that the three divided between them. When Walter 
left, at dusk of evening, to be driven back to his dormi- 
tory, Mootla ran after the carriage to the gate, like a 
girl of nine rather than nineteen. 

During the months that followed, Walter dined nearly 
every Sunday at “ The Willows,” and grew sincerely 
fond of his merchant-uncle. He found him a man of 
noble impulses, stability of character, and, greatest of 
all, a pardoning patriotism that justified every act of 
his countrymen in international affairs, however absurd 
and preposterous. This incongruity and unfairness ap- 
peared attractive, because inspired by such a zealous 
pride of nativity. 

Mootla often drove Walter for miles along the road 
in her pony-phseton. On such occasions her tongue 
would run at a surprising rate. She had read all the 


76 


ON A MARGIN. 


current French novels, and in conversation dashed 
boldly into criticism — literary and social. 

On one of these drives they passed “ The Morton In- 
stitution of Social and Polite Learning,” and although 
Mootla had not given the place a thought since she left 
it, she turned her pony’s head into the gate. During 
the time that has intervened since we parted com- 
pany with him, Professor Morton applied himself, with 
the same assiduity, to solving “the theorem.” But of 
late he had lacked one element vitally necessary to the 
demonstration — only a vulgar fraction, to be sure, but 
highly essential. 

Professor Morton needed money. 

From a positive and determinate quantity his funds had 
been eliminated gradually to a;, and now stood at minus 
nothing. As generally happens with inventors and 
theorists, this unfortunate entanglement of the formulae 
occurred at the critical hour in which triumphant suc- 
cess seemed certain. “ The theorem ” had been worked 
out to a solution, but he lacked the means to take out 
the patents securing his property from vandalism. 
Indeed, the situation was even worse than that ; for, un- 
known to his wife, he had already borrowed large sums 
of money, which had been expended or his “idea.” 

Yes, Professor Hector Morton really had an idea. It 
was this : 

He thought it possible to transmit the human voice 
by wire from one point to another. Of late, many 
times at night, he had been summoned by his anxious 
wife to leave his work and seek the rest he needed. 


ON A MARGIN. 


77 


When the command came through the receiver which 
he held to his ear, the words of the good woman were 
as the summons of an angel, because they carried con- 
viction to his mind that what could be understood by 
him could be heard by others. 

Simplicity was the charm of his invention. He 
understood the principles of the electric telegraph. The 
soft iron bar, he knew, was only temporarily magnetic, 
while the current was passing through the wire sur- 
rounding it. A steel bar, he discovered, not only re- 
tained its magnetism, but became, in turn, a source of 
electricity. An induced current could, he found, be 
sent through a wire from one magnet to another at the 
opposite end. Suspending a soft iron plate before the 
end of a magnetized steel bar, it appeared that a mag- 
neto-electric current was induced whenever the plate 
was brought into, or almost into, contact with the mag- 
net ; and, strangest of all, it simultaneously aflected a 
like iron plate fixed in the same way at the other ter- 
minus’ of a wire. The detection of the existence of this 
induced electric thrill, or shudder, was Morton’s actual 
starting-point. He had gone over all of Helmholtz’s 
exhaustive experiments in the analyzation of composite 
sounds ; he had studied the resonator and the human 
ear ; but the accidental finding of this nervous thrill of 
sympathy between one magnet and another was the 
key to his great secret. Several small machines had 
been completed, two of which he used to connect his 
workshop and his sleeping-room. 

The marvelous toys worked 1 . 


7b 


ON A MAliOll^. 


He stood on the threshold of success, of worldly im- 
mortality, of wealth ; hut in that moment disaster 
seemed inevitable, because his funds had given out, 
while the expensive formalities of securing his property 
by letters patent were yet to he undertaken. 

It was on one of these afternoons of deep despond- 
ency that the pony-phseton w'as descried coming up the 
road. When it had drawn up beside the door, a bright- 
eyed young man sprang out and gayly assisted the lady 
who drove to alight. Mrs. Morton, recognizing her for- 
mer pupil, received Mootla in the hall. Walter was 
soon introduced to the Professor and his wife. 

It is a sad truth that in that institution Mootla was 
more than a recollection. She was even held up as a 
frightful example, a terrible tradition, because the only 
enduring monument of her fame had been a rough-and- 
tumble quarrel with one of the Wharton sisters — the 
unfortunate girl who had a lisp in her voice, which 
Mootla alwaj'S imitated in her presence. This “dis- 
graceful escapade ” which had given the Mather girl 
more inward satisfaction than her two years of polite 
training, had demoralized the school for weeks, and had 
eventually resulted in the departure of “ the female fire- 
brand,” as Mrs. Morton styled Mootla. 

The easy and sociable manner of the old Professor 
pleased Walter Pawson much, and it was only a matter 
of twenty minutes or so before they visited the work- 
shop to inspect the invention. 

The machine was shown to Walter. He tried it, and 
could plainly hear the voice of the professor speaking 


ON A MARGIN, 


79 


over the wire from a box that was fastened to a tree in 
a distant part of the garden. With a look of sorrow 
that impressed Walter deeply, the good man told of his 
zeal, his enthusiasm, his years of labor and nights of 
sleeplessness. Finally he broke down completely when 
he confessed that he was wholly without means to go 
further. 

Walter was deeply sympathetic in his nature in those 
days ; but he distrusted the old man because of the im- 
parting of such a confidence to a stranger. Young as 
he was, he saw the ridiculous side of the Professor’s 
conduct. % 

The real explanation of Morton’s burst of confidence 
is doubtless to be found in the fact that he was in a 
mental condition verging on despair. The attention 
which Walter had given to his general conversation ; the 
interest the young man had sh(\wn when it drifted un- 
consciously into a channel that led toward the Profes- 
sor’s scientific dream, had perhaps encouraged the 
enfeebled inventor, and he had thirsted for a draught 
of human sympathy, warm and spontaneous, from a 
youthful heart. There is no reason to think he hoped 
for anything more. He longed for a confidant, and 
made one of Walter, probably before he intended. 

Walter left him with a feeling of real sympathy and 
awakening affection, promising to return again. The 
old Professor seemed younger than when his visitor en- 
tered, and it even looked as if Mootla had in a measure 
re-established herself in the good opinion of the “Pro- 
fessor of Household Art. ” The matron kissed her on 


ON A MARGIN. 


80 ' 

the forehead when she took her leave, and the old 
couple stood in the door as the phaeton bearing the 
young people moved off. ' . 

Walter returned to his studies, hut the vision of Pro- 
fessor Morton haunted him continually. He wrote to 
his guardian to ascertain if he had any available funds 
at his disposal, and finding that he had a few thousand 
' dollars, he visited the old Professor again, unknown to 
his uncle or Mootla. He carefully inspected the instru- 
ment, took it apart, and put it together again. Satis- 
fied of its genuineness as an invention, Walter con- 
cluded the visit by giving the Professor a check for 
three thousand dollars and taking his receipt for the 
money, which was so drawn as to guarantee him an in- 
terest in the invention. The joy of the professor' knew 
no bounds. He embraced Walter, and called him his 
savior. It must not be thought that young Kawson’s 
act was wholly a benevolent one. He already had con- 
siderable business capacity. He had the taint of com- 
mercial speculation in his blood, and was willing to 
venture some money in what he foresaw would prove a 
fabulously remunerati ve enterprise, if the machine per- 
formed what it promised. 

The subsequent career of Professor Morton is a 
matter of contemporaneous scientific record. He pat- 
ented his invention in all the countries of the world. 
He was harassed by infringements, by malicious prose- 
cutions, by false friends. When others failed him 
again, Walter Pawson came to his aid until he had fur- 
nished eight thousand dollars, A company was finally 


ON A MARGIN. 


81 • 

organized, and Walter was given a quarter-interest for 
the money he had advanced. He took the certificates 
of stock home with him at the end of the college year 
and put them in the old safe at the Crumpet mansion. 
Then tlie invention slumbered, and for some time was 
forgotten by the scientific world. When it reappeared 
it was in a blaze of gold and glory. 




CHAPTER IX. 

A. WOMAN’S MISTAKE. 

Gilroy had apparently established a trade. He 
had many warm friends. But he had also enemies — at 
least he had one enemy ; and that, too, without any 
fault of his own. 

Across Greenwich street from the chophouse was 
a “ dry goods ” dealer, whose shop was as largely 
stocked as any on the thoroughfare. This draper 
lived over his place of trade, and the presiding head of 
his household was his daughter, Maria Pruden. 

This lady of uncertain age was a careful student of 
the ceaseless tide of faces that flowed up and down 
along the street, and for many of the persons she had 
the bitterest dislikes. Miss Pruden “dispised” one 
woman because she stopped so long before a show win- 
dow. Xo less did this female censor “abominate” 
another neighbor, who did not stop at all. 

One afternoon. Miss Pruden fancied that a young 
woman delighted to linger about the front of Gilroy’s 
chop-house, in order to get a glimpse of the proprietor. 
At first she only hated the woman ; then she recognized 
the fact that she herself had long felt for the suave Gil- 
roy acute sentiments of tender regard . This admira- 
tion, once self-confessed, soon ripened into aflectiou — 
83 


ON A MARGIN 


83 


so rapid is the growth of a love that is nursed by a 
jealous heart. From that moment Miss Maria re- 
garded every woman, young or old, who passed the 
restaurant of the genial Gilroy with feelings of dis- 
respect. 

This habit of keeping “ her sanguine William ” under 
loving surveillance continued until the bright July after- 
noon in which this chapter opens. So agreeable was 
the work to Miss Pruden, that it had become part of 
her existence. She had reasoned herself into the belief 
that her love would one day be requited in some mys- 
terious fashion — if not by Gilroy, at least by some 
other man. Under this self-imposed weight of loving 
care, she had grown sympathetic — had become more 
womanly. 

One day, however, a crushing disclosure occurred, 
and her tender though ripe heart lay torn and bleeding. 
As she sat at her usual post of observation this after- 
noon, a carriage, having a large trunk behind it, was 
driven up to the door of Gilroy’s restaurant, and from 
it a woman alighted. The arrival was in the most 
public manner, and every inhabitant of the neighbor- 
hood marked the event. Gilroy himself stepped to 
the edge of the sidewalk, assisted the lady to alight, 
and opened the door in the hallway leading to the 
apartments above. Ignorant of his admirer’s gaze — or 
even of her existence — Gilroy committed the unpar- 
donable sin in the female decalogue. He displayed un- 
mistakable marks of affection for another woman. 

Therefore, he had now an enemy. 


84 


ON A MARGIN 


Within the week that followed this arrival at the 
home of Gilroy, the lady’s presence there was consid- 
ered in all possible aspects by the watching woman, and 
no explanation could be found. Had Mr. Gilroy known 
what a careful record was kept of his conduct, he 
would doubtless have taken an early opportunity to 
seek out his neighbor and explain the true state of 
affairs. His conduct could not have been more upright, 
for his daily life was integrity itself. The presump- 
tion was fair, therefore, that the lady was either his 
sister or wife. But which ? That was a vital ques- 
tion. Miss Pruden rang the hall-door two days later, 
and left a card. The visit was never returned. 

Gilroy must have known too well to require telling 
that, as the first successful manager of the Limestone 
eating-house, he was an object of much solicitude. 
With Miss Pruden the motive now became one of in- 
sanely jealous curiosity. Within two weeks after the 
stranger’s arrival, although the lady had not been seen 
during the interval, Miss Pruden in vain exhausted 
every effort to ascertain the relations existing between 
the two inmates of the house. So the weeks glided by, 
and summer came to an end, bringing neither satisfac- 
tion to the waiting woman nor disaster to the industri- 
ous Gilroy. 

Among the friends that Gilroy made, and was really 
devoted to, was Mr. Catesberry, of the Limestone 
Bank. In those days bank cashiers did not arrogate 
to themselves a higher social plane than that occupied 
by an intelligent and honest shop-keeper. 


ON A MARGIN. 


85 


As for Gilroy, he made a careful psychological study 
of Catesberry, and before three months he had formed 
a very clear-cut opinion of that young man’s conscience 
and morality. He had estimated the cashier’s “ price ” 
to a vulgar fraction. More than that, he had ascer- 
tained, by careful inquiry and a judicious visit to the 
cashier’s house on a Sunday afternoon, that his friend 
was living far beyond his income. He had learned that 
Catesberry ’s wife had brought him neither fortune nor 
influence. Therefore, by a* very simple process of de- 
ductive reasoning, he knew almost to a certainty that 
Catesberry ’s accounts were “ crooked.” 

Mr. Gilroy made it an act of pleasure to meet his 
friend Catesberry, whenever it was possible to do so 
away from the bank. He knew that Catesberry was 
fond of wine, and when they had a dinner together, 
as was often the case, Gilroy was liberality itself. 

“A good fellow,” said Gilroy, on one of these oc- 
casions, “ is he who always keeps his friend’s glass 
full.” 

“ Then, old top, you are the prince of good fellows,” 
rejoined Catesberry. 

One afternoon, on one of their visits to a roadside 
tavern above Central Park, where they had stopped for 
a bite of supper, Catesberry so far forgot his usual dis- 
cretion as to confide in Gilroy, and to admit that he 
was anxious to “ make a raise ” to meet an approach- 
ing obligation — a sum of money, he explained, that he 
h§d borrowed to invest in a speculation that had proved 
unfortunatt» 


ON A MARGIN, 


tj6 


“ Why not borrow some more money and settle the 
first debt ?” suggested Gilroy. 

“The advice of a sage,” said Catesberry, with half 
a sneer. “ But how is that to be done, pray ?” 

“Borrow it where you got the first loan,” whispered 
Gilroy, with a Mephistophelian smirk. 

“ What !” exclaimed Catesberry, setting down his 
glass, pale and cold. 

“ Certainly ; it’s always easier to raise money from 
people having confidence 'in one,” explained Gilroy, 
lightly, afiecting not to notice his companion’s agita- 
tion. 

“ I wonder if they would stand another loan ?” 

“ How can they help themselves ?” 

“Well, it’s auditing day the first of next month,” 
said Catesberry. “Something must be done.” 

“ Then it’s all the more important to do as I suggest,’? 
insinuated Gilroy, now thoroughly sure of his man. 

And thus the danger of the hour was tided over, 
Catesberry going deeper and deeper into the dangerous 
waters of embezzlement. The name of the Limestone 
Bank was not mentioned, but the two friends under- 
stood each other perfectly. Gilroy was cautious and 
discreet; he was also as “sanguine” of his complete 
ifiastery of the cashier as were his neighbors of his suc- 
cess at the chop-house. 

One crime generally leads to another ; and so, by 
gradual steps, Catesberry ’s accounts became so in- 
volved that during one of their drives together he 
threw ofl* the mask to his‘ friend Gilroy, and begged hjs 


OJV A MAH am. S7 

advice as to a means out of what he termed “ an indis- 
cretion.” 

This was just the condition in which Gilroy had 
hoped to find him. He at first chided him for his con- 
duct, his bad faith to his employers, expressed regret 
that Catesherry had not come to him for a loan instead 
of taking it from the bank, and much more of the same 
kind of talk. He said not one word too much, how- 
ever, but ended in this wise : 

“My dear boy, you are in too far for me to help you 
out. I haven’t money enough. There is only one way, 
and that is straight and easy. It is this : Have your 
bank robbed !” 

“ What do you say ?” exclaimed Catesherry, starting 
as if he had been struck. “ That’s criminal ; that 
would send me to the penitentiary if detected.” 

“Yes, you’re right. But you must not forget that 
in the eye of the law you are already a candidate for 
Sing Sing. It is a crime, I admit ; but you are already 
a criminal.” 

“ Good God I It hadn’t occurred to me before. It 
didn’t strike me ” 

“ Then it ought to strike you very clearly now,” said 
Gilroy, in a tone of friendly admonition. “I fully 
realized it or I shouldn’t have proposed so desperate a 
remedy. It can be done without ” 

“ That’s the point, Gilroy. Can it be done without 
great danger of detection ?” 

“ Easily enough, as you will see,” explained Gilroy, 
letting the lines fall on his horses’ backs as they slowly 


88 


ON A MARGIN 


climbed the hill on the old Westchester road back of 
Tremont. 

* “But how? Damn it. don’t beat about the bush' 
any more.” 

“ Well, you must ‘ give away ’ the combination of the 
safe.” 

“ That cannot be done ; that would expose me at 
once,” exclaimed the cashier. 

“Not at all; you lack experience. You haven’t a 
night watchman in the bank, have you ? , No. Then 
you must employ one. It is very hard to get a bank 
robbed without a night watchman.” 

“ This is dreadful business, Billy,” said Catesberry, 
pale but now resolute. 

“ It may be possible to do the job without the aid of 
the night watchman;” said Gilroy, thoughtfully., 

“I hope so ; but it all seems a desperate remedy.” 

“Cases like yours require heroic treatment. Nothing 
but the ‘jimmy’ or the ‘combination’ can pull you 
through, Sam.” 

“Still, the whole thing seems so risky, worse than 
going on as I am.” 

“ How much are your accounts short ?” asked Gilroy, 
in the same matter-of-fact way that he would have in- 
quired whether a customer liked his eggs boiled hard or 
soft. 

“Eighty-three thousand dollars.” 

“Then your case is more critical than I thought. 
That amount must involve a great deal of crooked 
figuring, eh ?” 


dir A MARom so 

‘‘No; it is confined to five accounts,” said Cates- 
berry. 

“ Well, suppose any one of those five customers come 
in to-morrow and want their accounts closed, where 
will you be ?” 

“ Where will I be ? Well ” 

“You’ll be in the Tombs within two hours. Don’t 
you see ?” 

“ Yes ; alas I do.” 

“■A batch of experts will he put on your books, and 
in a few days the full extent of your embezzlement will 
be known.” 

“True.” 

“Then I simply get back to where I began. You 
must straighten out every one of these accounts. Get 
your books clean and then have the bank robbed. I 
will help you with advice, or in any way in my power. 
I don’t want to see a clever fellow like you go to jail, 
if I can prevent it.” 

“You’re a good friend, Billy; but I still fear your 
scheme is too tremendous for me.” 

“There’s no other way out,” was the solemn re- 
joinder. 

“ Granting that ; how can it be done?” 

Gilroy was silent a moment ; and then, as if he had 
not heard his companion’s question, he asked : 

“ How much cash have you in the vaults ?” 

“About three hundred thousand dollars.” 

“That’s too bad,” mused Gilroy. 

“What’s the matter ?” 


90 ON A MAUGIN 

“ The amount is not large enough. Is there no waV 
by which you could get some more there ?” 

“The bonds of the Boston and Broadaxe Railway 
and Canal Company have been called, and will be paid 
at our bank after Thanksgiving Day. Now, the half 
million cash will be in the vault on November 27th, 
don’t you see, because the 28th is a holiday.” 

“That’s the idea!” exclaimed the obliging Gilroy. 
“It simplifies the whole matter. There’ll be no trouble 
in getting the job done for that sum. Is the vault iron- 
lined ?” 

“No; it is of block stone. It was built before the 
days of iron-lined vaults.” 

“ I thought so. Without being able to count on the 
watchman, we shall have to try some other means to 
save you. The safe inside the vault won’t give us any 
trouble.” 

“ Still, Billy, it seems like a big undertaking. Tell 
me more about it.” 

“No; the less you know the better. You are to 
have share and share alike with a few men I shall find 
to undertake this job. They will never know that such 
a man as you lives, and, of course, neither you nor I 
will ever be suspected. I tell you, Sam, I’ll do any- 
thing to serve a friend when he’s in a tight place — such 
as you’re in.” 

“ Very well, then ; go ahead, and Satan befriend us 
all,” said the cashier, with a sudden effort, as he saw in 
the evening sky cloud-pictures of towers and high walls 
with heavy gates that slowly opened as he approached. 




. CHAPTER X. 

ON THE NANTASKET CLIFF. 

✓ 

• Were I to trust my senses, very soon 

They’d tell me of a woman in the moon. 

— La Fontaineh Fables, F//, xviii, S^SS. 

The summer vacation passed far too rapidly for 
Walter amid the shady walks of Crumpet and in the 
company of the girl he loved. Violet had improved 
greatly. Her most charming characteristic in his eyes 
was her inordinate vanity, because he believed her the 
prettiest, loveliest woman who ever lived. 

When he returned to Cambridge, study had little 
charm for him. He longed for hom^ and Violet. The 
weather, too, continued so warm that he could not 
settle down to work. The hotels at the shore were still 
open, and he decided on Saturday afternoon to pass 
Sunday at Xantasket. 

He reached Boston as soon as a, train could take him 
there, and, b}'^ fast driving, caught the last boat. It 
was quite crowded with people going to some of the 
intermediate points, and Walter ensconced himself in a 
corner on the lower deck that he might enjoy a long 
smoke. 

To his surprise, as he left the boat at Xantasket landing 

he espied Cotton Mather and Mootla among the passen- 

91 


ON A MAnOrN. 


gers. Their greeting was exceedingly cordial, and both 
chided him for not acquainting them of his return. 
Cotton Mather inquired respectfully as to his mother’s 
health, and Mootla pinched his arm to ask how “ the 
country girls at Crumpet ” welcomed him. The three 
rode up to the hotel together in one of the mammoth 
four-wheeled omnibuses called ‘‘barges.” 

Cotton Mather was first out of the “barge,” and 
hastened into the clerk’s desk to secure rooms, leaving 
Mootla in Walter’s care. They had barely time to seat 
themselves on the veranda before the merchant ap- 
peared, and, patting Mootla on the shoulder, said 

“ Run up to your room, now ; that’s a good girl, 
and get ready for .supper. You’ve the same number 
you had last time — right at the head of the stairs.” 

“ Are you hungry ?” she asked him. 

“As a bear.” 

“Then I shall* not be a minute,” and away she 
darted. 

She was as good as her word, explaining as she re- 
appeared : 

“ I took a glance at the glass, and I know I look as 
well as any other woman about here,” casting her eyes 
around the main hall and ladies’ parlor, into which she 
could readily look. Turning, she seized Walter by the 
coat-sleeve, and, as she removed her hat with her dis- 
engaged hand, gave the order : 

“Come on.” 

The procession moved toward the supper-room. 

This large apartment was well filled, and it was im- 


Oir A MARGIN. 


93 




possible to seat the three together, Walter being ©ora- 
pelled by the force of circumstances to occupy a chair 
at the other end of the table from his uncle and 
Mootla. 

A remark by a guest recalled the fact that a partial 
eclipse of the moon would occur that evening. Many 
of the visitors had made this phenomenon the pretext 
for spending the night at the shore. 

Supper ended, Mootla ran upstairs to her room to 
put on a heavier dress, saying that she would join Wal- 
ter on the bluff in a few minutes. 

Cotton Mather soon encountered several acquaint- 
ances from Boston, and settled himself on the veranda 
for a sociable evening. He relied upon Walter to en- 
tertain Mootla, and had not the slightest anxiety about 
her. So completely did he trust her, that she was ab- 
solutely her own mistress. 

Walter awaited Mootla’s return with mixed delight 
and curiosity. The last time they had met they had 
almost quarreled. He did not want that to liappen 
again, and had thought out a line of policy which he 
was anxious to put to practical test. He was naturally 
conservative ; she more inclined to argue than to accept 
the opinions of others. Humility, in her mind, meant 
blind subservience. One who allowed her to wholly 
sliape the current of conversation soon found himself 
so entangled in her web that he dared not disagree. 
She gradually assumed imperious command, and her 
subordinates had to surrender the helm or be thrown 
ignommiously out of the boat. 


u 


ON A MARGIN. 


But Walter hoped to save his pride, and to prevent a 
catastrophe. His idea was to treat the case with a 
counter irritant ; in short, to pursue a course of antag- 
onism from the first moment. 

This theory was not a bad one. Our loquacious 
friends, if permitted, will soon convince us of our 
ignorance on all subjects embraced within the wide 
range between shoe-leather and logic. The disdain of 
the wise is always preferable to their pity. 

In his own mind Walter had not a very settled con- 
viction that the policy would work. How difficult to 
think when one is really in a quandary. He lit a fresh 
cigar, and from the porch studied the chromatic effects 
of the rising moon — seen floating far below on the som- 
bre surface of the sea. In this vague and thoughtless 
mood he was interrupted by the cheerful voice of 
Mootla : 

“You are a patient friend, at least, Walter. I have 
been very slow.” 

“ Indeed you have. But you are forgiven, my dear 
‘ cousin,’ now that you are here,” was the young man’s 
rejoinder. 

Mootla looked at him out of the corners of her 
eyes, fully recognizing the change in his nature, but 
said, no less impetuously, looking seaward : 

“ How beautiful I Let us go out on the cliff and ad- 
mire it.” 

“ I shall try, for your sake ; but it’ll require an 
effort,” saying which Walter hastened to offer his arm. 

They soon clambered out upon the edge of the 


OJ^ A MARGIN. 


95 


great rock where stands the Atlantic Hotel, and were 
seated close together on the heavy rug which Walter 
had brought with him. At first Mootla chattered 
away about the surpassing grandeur of the sea, and 
the commanding beauties of the place. Walter was on 
his guard. He carefully avoided being drawn into any 
analytical comparisons between Nantasket and New- 
port, or Cape May — estopping controversy by the bold 
dictum that all criticism was dogmatic ; that pleasure 
had not been reduced to an exact art. Indeed the vio- 
lent and incomprehensible twists which he gave to the 
conversation revealed him, from time to time, as a ter- 
rorist in politics, an apologist for regicide, a radical 
Calvinist, as opposed to Theodore Parker, and, finally, 
a Mohammedan when Mootla’s Eastern theology was 
sprung upon him. 

Mootla was surprised and perplexed. Walter was 
almost vain-glorious. So carried away was he by the 
mental revenge which he was taking on his dogmatic 
companion that he actually meditated a verbal goad for 
the Sacred Cow of the Brahmins. 

“ How do matters go at Cambridge, Walter ?” asked 

* 

Mootla, starting the conversation in a new channel. 

“ Only tolerably,” he rejoined, between gasps occa- 
sioned by persistent effort to entice smoke through the 
constricted folds of a formidable seaside cigar. “ The 
fact is, I am wretchedly unhappy.” 

“Unhappy ?” and she laughed in a dry, cynical way 
that sounded strangely to her companion. “And why^ 
pray ?” 


96 


ON A MARGIN, 


I’m sick of the drudgery of scholarship.” 

“But you’re not a scholar yet,” she said, in a pro- 
voking manner. 

“I know it,” was his quick retort.' “But I’ve 
already learned that he is not necessarily an idiot who 
calls a covered wagon ‘ a stage ’ instead of ‘ a barge ’ — 
as you Bostonians do.” 

“ There you go again. I surrender to-night, Walter, 
because I am in the conciliatory mood. What under 
Heaven makes you sad ?” 

How could he tell her when he didn’t know him- 
self? 

Both were silent for several minutes. Among the 
rocks below them the gurgling wash of the sea sported 
in dreary solitude witli the ferns and jelly fish; and 
along the far-reaching expanse of sand, so dimly out- 
lined to the northward, the restless, crestless wavelets, 
hurried shoreward by the light east wind, marked the 
ebbing tide line. 

“ Well, you see, Mootla, I’ve yet three years up 
there. I’m awfully bored.” 

“ You have had enough of learning.” 

“ Really, I’m glad you agree with me.” 

“ You do not know the danger of a diploma. Beware 
of one. Don’t risk the chance of starting in your busi- 
ness career with nothing but that to commend you. 
Stop where you are.” 

“ Surely you underestimate its value.” 

“Ko, I don’t; but I make the alarming discovery 
that you already have the malaria of pedantry in you? 


ojsr A MAR am. 


97 


system. Fly, young man ! I tell you, escape I Get 
out ! ” 

“ You are a wise friend, Mootla ; but your advice is 
not the best this time.” 

“ It is the wisdom of Solomon. Do you want to see 
the world only through the prism of self-complacency ?” 

“ Please don’t lecture ” 

“ I am an observing girl,” she continued, not heed- 
ing the interruption. “I have seen too many young 
men fitted out for fiilure to let you go the same road. 
You have probably learned something ; but for 
Heaven’s sake stop before you convince yourself that 
you have learned all. I have grown up almost in the 
atmosphere of a university town — perhaps I’m called 
‘a college widow.’ Well, to cut it short — I know.” 

Walter looked at her with admiration. Her eyes 
snapped even in the moonlight, and her face was hand- 
somer than it had ever before appeared. In the impul- 
sive manner which she was liable to affect at any 
mopient, she repeated : 

“ I know !” 

“ But the loss of a college education is opposed to all 
my plans in life,” argued Walter. 

“Make new ones, then.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go to work. Why, only yesterday I read of a 
tramp at a Boston police court who spoke seven lan- 
guages, but could not make a living in any. One 
tongue and a shoemaker’s last would have kept him 
out of jail,” 


ON A MARGIN 


Just at this moment a long-haired savant, a wander- 
ing minstrel of the starry sky, bearing a telescope on 
his shoulders, stopped near by at the brow of the cliff 
and set up his tripod. Walter regarded the man with 
curiosity, and at his suggestion Mootla seated herself 
at the glass to observe the eclipse already in progress. 
Then the young man listened idly. 

“The moon is without an atmosphere, lady,” began 
the bearded peripatetic. “ Therefore, all the shadows 

are dark and sharp Only at a time like 

this, lady, is there any twilight on the moon 

Now you will notice the shadow slowly engulfing the 
Ocean of Storms, the lower portion of the Sea of Clouds 

and the Grulf of Showers Behold, in the 

reddish glare of the eclipse, the towering craters of 
Ivepler and Copernicus. . . . Steady, lady, steady ; 

don’t move the glass. . . . Patience, lady, patience.” 

“The moon afiects me strangely, Walter,” said 
Mootla, almost springing away from the telescope as if 
to break the spell of an infatuation. She returned near 
to Walter, but continued standing. 

“If it moves the tides, why not the human heart ?” 
was his answer. 

“I wonder if I shall always see that picture?” she 
murmured to herself. 

“What is it you found up there?” asked Walter, 
struck by Mootla’s manner. 

“O, it’s terrible!” and she wrung her hands ner- 
vously. She looked into Walter’s face as if for pity and 
protection. She found both, for he sprang at once to her 


OJSr A MAR O IN. 


99 


side and begged to know what he could do in her be- 
half. “What has happened, Mootla ?” he demanded, 
glancing angrily toward the wrinkled and stooped 
itinerant star gazer. 

“O, nothing,” she answered, burying her face and 
eyes in her hands. 

“But, Mootla, surely you can trust me? Why this 
agitation ?” 

“ I have just seen in the face of the moon, as I have 
found it a thousand times among the embers in the fire, 
an awful vision of my childhood.” 

“ Calm yourself ; please don’t allow such fancies to 
possess you, ’’stammered Walter, awkwardly, alarmed at 
the girl’s nervous agitation and doubtful what he ought 
to say. 

“Fancies!” she almost shrieked. “Why, Walter, 
you don’t know what you say. Something occured in 
my sight once that has made me sorry I ever was 
born I ” 

“There, now. Please stop. I have no claim upon 
your confidence,” remonstrated Walter. 

“ But, my dear friend, I must tell somebody — either 
you or that poor old fool there,” looking toward the 
astronomer, who was still busying himself about his 
telescope. 

“ Is it necessary ?” 

“ Imperative. I’ve never told it to a human being, 
though I’ve described it to myself a hundred thou- 
sand times. Perhaps I shall be absolved of my long 
penance if I do but confide the secret to some one else.” 


) o 1 


100 


ON A MARGIN 


“ I warn you that I am a wretched confessor.” 

“ But I insist, though I exact one condition.” 

“Any.” 

“You must not interrupt me.” 

“ I promise.” 

“ Very well, listen. I tell it you just as I see it with 
my eyes and hear it with my ears this moment,” 
Mootla began. “I am a mere child. It is a warm 
summer day, and I am in a carpenter’s shop, some- 
where — for I never knew the name of the place — hunt- 
ing blocks for toy-houses among the shavings. In the 
center of the room there are two workmen, quite near 
each other. They are intimate friends. One is using 
a broad-axe. He is trimming down a piece of timber, 
while the other makes mortice-holes in an end of the 
same great log. The younger man, who works with 
the mallet and chisel, is pale and much exhausted. 
Laying down his tools, he slowly raises his arms above 
his head as he drawls out, 

“ ‘You handle that axe so well, George.’ 

“ ‘ Yes ?’ murmurs the axe-man in a strangely inter- 
rogative tone, as the bright steel cleaves the sides of the 
tough beam. Now he stops chopping to glare vacantly 
at the cold gray metal ; now he resumes work more 
vigorously. 

“ ‘ It seems so keen,’ the younger says. 

“ ‘And sure,’ the elder adds. 

“ ‘ Life’s such a bore, I wish you’d split my head ’ — 

“Poor fellow, he’s taken at his word. 

“ A flash of light and a new crash put an everlasting 


ON A MARGIN 


101 


period to the dialogue. I see the axe’s blade buried in 
the skull of the young apprentice, while its handle still 
quivers in the elder workman’s grasp. 

“ My God ! the look of horror on that murderer’s 
face ! It fades away, and the man falls in a swoon 
upon the floor. 

“I hear the rush of feet. Blanched faces gather 
’round in awful silence. I am not seen. They do not 
suspect me of the terrible crime. Why don’t somebody 
speak ? How hideous is silence ! 

“I see only one object in that room. Not the bleed- 
ing corpse, but the man who has done the murder. I, 
alone, have heard their conversation. I, alone, know 
how the young man begged for death. I crawl over to 
the prostrate chopper of wood. I understand the case. 
I stoop down and kiss his cold forehead. I forgive him 
— for I know that he only obliged a friend. They tell 
me that he also is dead. Strong men strive to tear me 
from him, but I beg to stay. They deny me this. 1 
scream, ‘ He is my father ! ’ ” 

“ Is this true ?” exclaimed Walter, terror-stricken at 
the realism of the narration. 

“ True,” answered Mootla, solemnly; “but I swear 
to you that man acted without moral intent. I under- 
stand the psychology of that crime now. It was the 
corr«ilation, the reciprocity of like thought simulta- 
neously present in two minds. We are told of danger 
in conjunctions of the stars, of human ills that track 
the wake of an eclipse — what are they all, compared to 
the impulse that makes an innocent man a murderer?” 


102 


ON A MARGIN 


There* was a long pause. Walter was dumb with 
amazement. 

“ It was all so horrible that I believe the average 
death rate in the village increased,” Mootla resumed, 
hearing anew her own thoughts. “There were two 
suicides soon after, and a boy lover strangled his sweet- 
heart.” 

Mootla rose with a start, and again walked over to 
the side of the lonely astronomer. The old man wel- 
comed her return, and re-established her comfortably in 
the chair. Then, having again focussed the telescope 
to her eye, he resumed the duty of guiding Mootla 
across the trackless moon. Walter, almost stupefied 
by the confession of his companion, only gathered frag- 
ments of the harangue. 

“Now, my lady, you will see along the eastern edge 
of the lunar globe, standing out ’gainst the sky with 
stereoscopic brightness, the returning sunlight begin to 
break in a narrow but rapidly broadening line. The 
eclipse is coming to an end.” A half minute’s silence, 
and he resumed: “The bright line has now shot 
northward, until it illuminates the peaks around the 
Land of Hoar Frost and southward to the furthest con- 
fines of the Ocean of Storms, beyond which it streams 
across the Sea of Moisture to the borders of the Moonal- 
pine district with Ticho in the centre. . . . The 

brilliant peak of Aristarchus begins to shine like a star 
in the advancing light, lady ; and behold, already the 
sunshine floods the shores of the Bay of Kainbows. 
Observe the gradual glow of the light on the cliffs and- 


10 ^ 


dw A 3fARGm 

on the long headlands at either extremity of this water- 
less bay. It is not like the usual sunrise on the moon.” 

And the shadow crept 'slowly off, revealing region 
after region, until the whole round face of the moon 
shone silver bright again. 

Mootla rose, tossed the man a coin, and, calling 
Walter to follow, made her way toward the hotel. 

“Who’s that slender brown-haired fellow I saw you 
driving with on the road the other day ?” she asked. 

“ In the dog-cart ?” 

• “Yes.” 

“ That’s Jack Burnaby.” 

“ Any relation to Burnaby, the famous Kew Yorker ?” 

“ Ilis son.” 

“O ! is that all ?” and Mootla laughed. 

“Burnaby is a senior class man, but he don’t give 
himself any airs — I mean, not on that account.” 

“ I liked his looks very much,” Mootla admitted. 

“ He’s a mighty fine fellow, and I’m sorry he’s going 
away from Cambridge,” replied Walter. “ But, Mootla, 
tell me, didn’t you think that old astronomer very 
clever ?” 

“ Blessed if I know, what he was talking about,” she 
said as they reached the porch. 

“No?” 

She was silent a moment. Then she exclaimed, look- 
ing him curiously in the face : 

“ I’ll tell you what to do. Take the turning to the 
left, push open a green door, and get a drink. You 
look pale.” Walter did not move. 


104 


ON A MARGIN. 


Mootla stamped her foot impatiently. 

“ Go ; get a glass of brandy, I say.” And, laughing 
merrily, she hurried across -the landing to the stairway. 
Her tall, lithe figure stopped on the first step, and she 
kissed her fingers to him as she said, “Good-night.” 

When Walter rose late the next morning and de- 
scended to the office he found a note in his box. It ran 
thus : 

“ Dear Walter — We find that we have accepted an 
invitation to dinner in Charlestown, this afternoon. Our 
good uncle had quite forgotten it, but remembered it by 
chance. He has chartered a steam tug, and we leave in 
a few minutes. You dine at ‘ The Willows ’ on Thanks- 
giving Day. Don’t fail to come. I find Uncle Cotton 
knows Mr. Burnaby, and he has promised to invite him. 
Bring him out with you. Mootla.” 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE EVOLUTION OF INIQUITY. 

It was a late hour of the night before Thanksgiving- 
day. Kearly all New York was asleep. Miss Maria 
Pruden sat in her own room over her father’s shop. 
She had just returned from witnessing the concluding 
performance of a long and successful run of “Romeo 
and Juliet ” at a Broadway theatre. She had not been 
impressed with the gloomy side of the tragedy, but, 
having returned home in a happy mood, she was pic- 
turing in her mind a future Romeo who should fulfill 
the requirements of a judgment more mature and 
critical than that of the average playgoer. 

Miss Pruden threw open the blinds and seated herself 
in the full glow of the moonlight. The window opened 
upon the now silent street. Divested of all romance, 
the room was what is advertised by boarding-house 
mistresses as “a nice hall-room, suitable for a ‘single ’ 
lady or gent.” There was no need for this dreamer to 
light the gas, for the moonbeams created a silver halo 
that enveloped her face and shoulders. Her pensive 
thoughts reverted to the unfortunate misunderstanding 
that, five years before had cost her the ardent affec- 
tions of a rising physician. Alas I he was lost forever. 

Having been appointed a deputy coroner, he had since 

105 


106 


ON A MARGIN. 


made a fortune and married another woman. Then, 
curiously enough, a vaguely defined regard for Mr. 
Gilroy passed through her mind. This was the strang- 
est of all her attachments ; but the most uuromantic 
women are often unconscious castle-builders. The 
admission that she had lost Doctor Dunwell only to 
bestow her yearning afiections upon a man who, prob- 
ably, would never know of her love, was not pleasant. 
She had never known Gilroy personally ; and yet, 
strange as it seemed, she had felt a real aflection for 
him, only to have it dispelled by the arrival of another 
woman. Who was this man, she asked herself, who 
had crept into her heart even before she had become 
conscious of her misplaced aflection ? She then remem- 
bered that the woman had not been visible about the 
house since the day of her arrival. She looked across 
the street. She saw the dim gaslight in the Limestone 
Bank on the corner, but all the shops were dark. The 
restaurant had closed earlier than usual. 

The thoroughfare was entirely deserted. No, there 
was a man slowly coming uptown. on the opposite side- 
walk. In the glare of the street-lamp she saw that he 
was only a wretched straggler who had passed down 
a few minutes before, and apart from a sigh for his 
assumed wife and neglected family. Miss Pruden gave 
him no attention. 

A dull, rumbling sound, followed by a sharp report, 
burst upon the stillness of the night. Something mo- 
mentous and terrible had happened, somewhere. Miss 
Pruden was instantly alert. She thrust her head out 


ON A MAR 0 IN. 


107 


of the window and glanced up and down the street. 
She asked heself why she was so excited. The lone 
pedestrian on the opposite sidewalk proceeded slowly 
on his way, and evidently heard not this tremendous 
noise. Probably her nervous agitation had caused her 
to bestow more attention to the subject than it de- 
served. But at that instant a light, evidently carried 
by some one, tlitted mysteriously across the upper 
windows of Gilroy’s house opposite. Miss Pruden 
associated the building with the noise and an appalling 
theory, without the slightest fact to support it, was 
instantly fashioned in her mind. Pear and jealousy 
begat it. Marvelous the fancies that sudden fright 
and deep-seated covetousness conjure up ! 

At once Miss Pruden explained to herself all she had 
heard, seen, and imagined during the preceding three 
months — based upon a hypothesis which her clever 
coadjutors, jealousy and fear, set up for her. Her 
verdict, when she found her coy advances made from 
the window unnoticed, had been : “ Gilroy is a rascal, 
capable of anything.” Now, she supplemented that 
finding with the comments, “ The woman ! Yes, that 
woman ! Gilroy has shot her, killed her — killed her, 
dead.” 

It was only the work of a moment to reach the top of 
the stair and to scream twice for her father — who 
slept in his store, as he had done for a quarter of a 
century. Awakened from a deep sleep, the ancient 
seller of hosiery staggered out into the lower hall and 
fairly groaned : 


108 


OJSr A MARGIN. 


‘ ‘ Wha — t ? Mariar I ’ ’ 

“Murder, father I” continued the voice from above. 
“Gilroy has killed — that woman !” 

“Brother Gilroy killed ? Go hack ter bed, Mariar. 
These late hours and this play-actin’ ull be the ruin of 
yer ” 

“But, father,” persisted the maiden, bounding 
down the stairs, “I heard the shot ; it was across the 
street.” 

“Mariar, ut’s absurd. Gilroy was too keerful,” 
reasoned the old draper, who was still struggling with 
the two waking ideas in his mind, that Gilroy had 
been killed or had killed himself. His daughter, 
however, soon gave an unexpected direction to his 
thoughts. 

“Go at once to the police station,” urged the excited 
woman, as she reappeared from his sleeping-room. 
“ Here’s your long linen coat, father. Here’s your 
shoes. There — your hat’s on your head. Nobody’s on 
the street. Run !” 

Having jammed his hat over his eyes, she led the old 
man to the street door and literally pushed him out, 
and slammed the door. 

Thus it was that on this now historic night, a 
wretched servant-girl, kept awake in a basement 
dining-room by a bad digestion, saw a tall figure envel- 
oped in fluttering white drapery, flit past her window, 
and this is why she maintains to this hour that she has 
seen Death walking abroad. 

Fortunately, Mr. Pruden arrived at the station- 


0]!^ A MAMOM. 


m 

house in an adjacent street before he encountered a 
policeman. Had he met one, he certainly would have 
passed the rest of the night in a cell as a dangerous 
lunatic. Reaching the sergeant’s desk in safety, how- 
ever, he stated that somebody had been shot in the 
building occupied by Gilroy’s restaurant. His daugh- 
ter had heard the melee, and he himself— well, he 
“hadn’t just exactly heard the shootin’, you see, but 
he seen the house,’ and, for sartain, it wore a very sus- 
picious look. A v-e-r-y suspicious look. Indeed, he 
should say ” 

“You should say nothing, sir,” thundered Captain 
Churchill, who made his appearance from an inside 
room, having been awakened by the furore. “Who 
are you, coming at this hour of the night to blast the 
reputation of a good citizen like Gilroy ?” 

“I am Ezekiel Pruden, a merchant on Greenwich 
street for twenty-eight year, cornin’ March,” rejoined 
the complainant promptly, somewhat on his metal, and 
now wide awake. 

“ Then, you seriously make the charge ?” asked the 
Captain. 

“ Seriously ? Sartintly — that is, I make it for my 
daughter.” 

“Turn out the entire reserves. Sergeant,” growled 
the Captain. “ I’ll go myself, now I’m up.” 

The gong thundered, and for five minutes the entire 
building was in confusion. In the men’s quarters 
the rapid progress of a hasty toilet could be studied. 
The Captain returned to his room to find his cap and 


110 ON A MARGIN. 

boots, and the Sergeant made the formal entry in tb« 
books. 

Amid the bustle that was going on around, Father 
Pruden was able to slip out, and quickly retraced his 
steps. Having mounted the stairs to his daughter’s 
sitting-room, he approached the window and awaited 
developments. 

His faithful child told him in a few sentences how 
the lounger on the opposite sidewalk had followed his 
flying footsteps to the corner of the street in which the 
station-house was located, and how, after waiting there 
a few moments, he had retraced his course with 
great haste, in order to let himself into the side-door 
of Gilroy’s restaurant. From that door she had not 
seen him emerge. Even yet the street was silent as 
a meadow path. It was a night of nights for a great 
crime ! • 

“ And this is Gilroy’s end ?” Miss Pruden kept 
asking herself with a monotony that Anally proved dis- 
tressing to her parent. 

“Women have proved the ruin of many’s the good 
man, Mariar,” volunteered the old shopkeeper, think- 
ing aloud. 

“Yes, that bad woman ; it was her work ” 

“ It mout ’ave been the’r eatin ’-house, Mariar. We 
must allow fer the curse overhangin’ thet eatin’-house, 
my child. We shed hope ” 

“We should know, father,” interrupted the violent 
woman, as she drew in her head and shoulders from 
the window whence she had been peering up the 


ON A MARGIN 


111 


street. “ And we shall know. Here come the police !” 
She was right ; the blue-coats were coming. They 
filed across the deserted thoroughfare at the corner 
above. A brace of trusty men were sent down the 
adjacent street, to prevent escape in that direction. 
The main portion of the squad, twelve men, halted in 
front of the door of Gilroy’s restaurant. The moment 
had come. Father and child, at the window opposite, 
awaited the denouement with feverish anxiety, the old 
measurer of tape muttering to himself : 

“Mariar mout be mistaken!. ” 

Every step that Captain Churchill took after leaving 
the station-house made him more ashamed of the 
errand on which he was engaged. Any suspicions 
against Gilroy were dismissed as too absurd for con- 
sideration. It was possible that burglars had entered 
the chop-house, and had murdered its proprietor. 
This fear incited him to go forward. Gilroy was a 
valuable man to the neighborhood and must be pro- 
tected. 

When the police captain had properly posted his 
men so that the burglars, if there were any, could not 
escape, he went to the street-door of the restaurant 
and gave the bell a lusty pull. Then, with his eyes 
fixed on the windows of the second story, he waited. 
No sound from within ! He rang again even more 
vehemently, and was about to give orders to break in 
the door, when a window slowly opened, and Gilroy’s 
head and shoulders appeared — Gilroy safe and well, but 
very sleepy. 


112 


ON A MARGIN 


“ What’s wanting ?” he drawled out, in a half-awake 
fashion. 

“ We were informed that burglars had broken into 
your house and were killing you, Gilroy,” said Captain 
Churchill, who knew the chop-house man well enough 
to be on his free-luncheon list. 

“ Oh ! it’s you, is it. Captain ?” said Gilroy, quickly, 
recognizing him apparently by his voice. “I’ve 
hardly got my eyes open yet. I see you’ve jmur men 
with you, too. I’m much obliged, but there’s nobody 
in the house, so far as I know.” 

“That’s what I thought,” muttered the Captain. 
Then, turning to his men, he said : 

“Fall in, column of twos ; about face, forward ” 

Just at that moment a shrill shout, startling and un- 
expected, rang out on the night air from a window on 
the opposite side of the avenue. It was a woman’s 
voice that screamed : 

“There they go I On the roof 1 See them! See 
them I Stop thieves I” 

' Captain Churchill and his men sprang into the 
middle of the street barely in time to see three figures 
traversing the roofs of the houses at the extreme 
upper end of the block. Before he and his officers had 
recovered from their surprise the persons had disap- 
peared. 

Gilroy had drawn his head inside the window the 
instant the shout was heard, and only stopping long 
enough to seize a flat package which he fastened 
inside his underclothing, made his appearance at the 


OiV^ A MAUG/JV. 


113 


street door, demanding excitedly where the burglars 
were. He carried his coat and vest in his hand, having 
evidently caught them up as he ran from his room. 
What the police overlooked in the excitement of the 
moment was that his shoes were entirely laced up. He 
threw the door wide open, and urged the policemen to 
hurry up to the roof. He even followed them half way 
up the first flight of stairs ; but he quickly descended, 
and, under the excuse of aiding in the search, he 
hurried rapidly up the street, and was soon lost to 
sight. 

Meanwhile, Captain Churchill, having explored the 
roof only to find that the scuttle of a neighboring house 
had been wrenched off, and that the burglars had 
effected their escape, returned to Gilroy’s building. 
He called the name of the proprietor loudly at the top 
of the stairs, but did not receive any answer. Tlien, 
in company with a few of his men, he began to explore 
the upper rooms of Gilroy’s house, to assure himself 
that none of the burglars was hidden in the closets or 
under the beds. The strangest circumstance he ob- 
'served was that there were several beds in the various 
rooms, all unmade. But not a single person save Gil- 
roy had he seen. 

Finally the door of a rear room was opened, and to 
the Captain’s surprise, the apartment contained a 
workbench, a lathe, a grindstone, and a combination 
“jimmy ” of great strength for forcing open safe doors. 
When Churchill saw this his policeman’s instinct 
reasserted itself over his strong social feelings. He 


114 


ON A MARGIN. 


clutched one of his men by the arm and whispered in 
his ear: 

“ Hurry down stairs and arrest Gilroy at once. 
Take him straight to the station-house with a couple 
of men. I don’t want to see him.” 

The officer sprang down the steps to carry out the 
orders, but soon returned with the unpleasant news 
that Gilroy couldn’t be found. 

It was now only the work of a few minutes to descend 
into the cellar. Churchill was completely mystified, 
but there he found what brought the cold perspiration 
to his face. Beyond the sawdust-filled partition, which 
had served its purpose as a deadener of sound, was a 
steam drilling apparatus, power being supplied from 
the innocent-looking iron boiler at the other end of the 
cellar. Near the drill was a hole in the cellar wall, 
opening directly into the vault of the Limestone Bank. 
Through the aperture shone the light of a candle that 
had been left inside the vault. 

Captain Churchill was thus enabled to see that the 
safe doors had been blown off, and that the bank had 
been robbed. This, then, was the noise which the 
woman had heard ! Why had he not come more 
quickly ? Many regrets filled his breast. 

The delay in getting the police to the place had been 
ample for the requirements of the burglars. Captain 
Churchill found, on crawling through into the vault, 
that the floor was littered with unnegotiable papers, 
while all the money and bonds had been taken. He 
was so overcome with the strange turn events had 


OK A MARGIN, 


115 


taken that he lost much precious time in returning to 
the station-house and sending out a general alarm. 

As soon as the officers -of the bank could be sent for, 
the astounding discovery was made that eight hundred 
thousand dollars in cash had been taken, besides a 
large quantity of bonds that were convertible into 
money if quickly handled. 

The directors were summoned. Mr. Catesberry, the 
cashier, was greatly excited, and shed tears* in the full- 
ness of his sympathy. So mucli did' this misfortune 
overcome him that he was confined to his house for 
several days by nervous prostration. 

A careful though hasty examination of the cash- 
book showed that every cent in the custody of the in- 
stitution had been safe in its vaults. All was gone. 
Not a dollar in cash had been overlooked by the 
burglars. 

The effect upon the tradesmen of Greenwich Street 
may be imagined. The curse on the restaurant, that all 
had believed in, entered nearly every home, and made 
its occupants miserable for years. Many persons sold 
their merchandise and good will for what they could get 
and left the neighborhood. Several ruined shop-keepers 
took their lives. Since Fate was clearly their foe, 
death was the safest refuge. 

None of the burglars was caught. The detectives 
did not detect any better than they do nowadays. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A DINNER AT “THE WILLOWS.” 

There is a crisis in every young man’s life. The 
night on the cliff had set Walter to thinking. Mootla, 
who had called herself “ a college widow,” more in a 
spirit of self-abnegation than reality, had shown him 
the folly of boyhood. The disclosure brought some 
regrets. Unlike that adolescent stage in which the 
voice is broken only to take on greater volume and 
strength, this mental change from boy to man often 
occurs in an instant of time. Misfortune or joy, sud- 
den humiliation or awakened pride may work the trans- 
mutation. However it come, there is a moment in 
which the young man recognizes calmly the demands 
that society — the society of tradition — makes upon him, 
and resolutely, defiantly, it may be, prepares to meet 

them. From that time, he thinks, acts, even walks, 
differently. It is the end not of physical, but mental 
youth. Physically the era of youth may run a lifetime. 
Age may be defined as dating from that unhappy hour 
in which we begin to take care of our health. While 
we can play havoc with our physical constitutions ; 
can eat, drink, sleep, aye, love with impunity — with- 
out penalty, punishment, or thought of the future — 

then, then are we voung. But with that evil day in 
U6 


ON A MARGIN. 


117 


which we must regulate our diet, dilute our tea, 
count our cigars, measure our liquors, time our hours 
of sleep, and give up our aflairs of the heart, comes 
old age ! 

Walter was sitting in his dormitory. He was in a 
brown study this beautiful November morning. So 
deeply was his mind engaged that he couldn’t keep a 
cigar alight. A knock at his door ! He hardly heard 
it ; no impression was made on his senses, and he re- 
mained silent. The knock was repeated, but it was 
not until the departing footsteps of the person without 
were heard that Walter awakened from his reverie. 
He sprang to the door, threw it wide open, and called 
the retreating figure back. It was Jack Burnab}^, 
who, turning quickly, asked : 

“Why didn’t you answer, Rawson ?” 

“ I don’t know, unless I was making a study of 
human nature,” rejoined Walter, smiling. 

“ Confound your frankness. Wanted to see whether 
I ’d try the door-knob, or walk in without asking, did 
you?” 

“No, honestly. I’m sick of college life, and was 
trying to devise some excuse for going home !” 

“ Which is it ?” asked Jack. “ A girl, or a ‘ con- 
dition ’ on the last examination ?” 

“ Oh, my standing in the class is all right,” Walter 
hurried to say. 

“ Then it ’s a girl. Poor fellow !” And Jack aifected 
to commiserate his friend, sorrowfully. 

Walter rose, threw off his house jacket, and as^ 






118 OJ^ A MARGIN. 

suined a walking coat. He then looked at his watch 
and said : 

“I ordered the team for eleven; it’s due now.” 
Looking out the window, he descried the handsome 
pair of chestnut horses that he kept at a stable up in 
the town. 

“ Here we are, Burnaby ; let ’s go at once.” 

“I’m ready,” answered Jack, lighting a cigar. 

“ Your uncle lives out on the turnpike, doesn’t he ?” 

“Yes ; in a great stone house, back among a clump 
of trees.” . 

“ I know the place well. Drove past there the other 
afternoon. Mighty comfortable-looking homestead, I 
tell you.” 

“You’ll see the prettiest feature about it after we 
get inside the house,” continued Walter, as they de- 
scended the stairs. 

“ An odd Queen Anne staircase, perhaps ?” 

“No, indeed,” answered Walter, laughing heartily. 

“Warn me in advance. Surprises ‘hx-eak me up.’ 
What shall I see ?” 

“ A pretty girl.” 

“ Your uncle’s adopted child ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ The young lady with the odd name, that I have 
heard Mr. Mather mention so often at your rooms, I 
presume,” said Jack Burnaby, half interrogatively. 
“ Is she really interesting, Walter ?” 

“ She’s clever as a fairy princess,” answered he with 
real enthusiasm. 


ON A MARGIN, 


119 


The young men climbed into the light buggy, and 
the spirited horses dashed oft' toward “The Willows ” 
the instant they were given their heads by the stable- 
man. Walter was taking his friend, at Cotton Mather’s 
invitation, to Thanksgiving dinner at the old home- 
stead. 

Mootla was standing at the front door to welcome 
them, so Jack Burnaby inspected the chief article of 
vertu before entering the house. She wore a closely- 
fitting garnet cashmere dress, richly trimmed. It was 
a very pretty picture that the open doorway, with its 
shadowy background, presented. Kever was Mootla’s 
manner more easy when introduced to a stranger, or 
her laugh more gleeful than when she* greeted Walter. 
She led the way into the great hall, where the butler 
hastened to take oft* the top-coats of the visitors. 
Young Burnaby was much struck with the girl’s pretty 
face. 

Entering the drawing-room, Walter was surprised to 
find two young ladies and a young man already there. 
Mootla presented the new comers. The visitors were 
the Wharton sisters and a Mr. Lorrison who accom- 
panied them. A moment later. Cotton Mather came 
in from another part of the house, with a sedate-look- 
ing man whom he presented to Walter and Jack, as 
soon as he had warmly welcomed them himself. He 
was the girl’s father, Mr, Wharton. As Mather in- 
troduced Burnaby, he found opportunity to whisper in 
the ear of his elder visitor : “ Son of the great Bur- 
naby, of the Kew York Cyclone,'’^ There was an ex- 


120 


OS A MAROrS. 


pression on Father Wharton’s face that appeared 
indescribably funny to Walter. 

“Who is he?” asked Walter, the moment he got 
Mootla’s ear. 

“An innocent old guy, who lives down the road a 
bit,” slie answered. 

“ Isn’t he a preacher ?” 

“ No ; he’s in the hat business, I believe. Uncle 
Cotton fancies the old man, and I try to like the girls.” 

“ On the principle that one knows a person better 
after she has fought her; eh, Mootla ?” suggested 
Walter, smiling, as he recalled what she had told him 
of the scene at the Morton school. 

“Not exactly that. I have outgrown my girlish 
dislikes, just as Mabel has outlived her lisp. Even 
the younger girl does not ‘ toe in ’ any longer. I can 
forgive, and they appear to have forgotten.” 

“ Don’t you believe it, Mootla. Look out for them,” 
said Walter. 

“Why, we were mere children when that hap- 
pened.” 

“ It’s my turn to advise. I say, ‘ Look out !” 

“ I don’t see what they came for, anyhow. Uncle 
invited the old gentleman over, and he brought the 
girls, and Mabel’s beau, with him. I’m sorry, for I 
thought we’d have a nice, quiet time of it,” she con- 
cluded, petulantly. 

“Say, Mootla; I see old Pop Wharton has pinned 
Jack already,” and Walter chuckled to himself. “He 
looks like such an infernal old bore.” 


ON A AIAnGIN. 


121 


“And so he is. We must save Mr. Burnaby,” she 
answered. 

“If I’m not mistaken, Jack will take care of him- 
self. Suppose we leave him to his fate. Ask the girls 
and the young ‘ swell ’ to join us, and we’ll take a 
stroll in the conservatory among the flowers.” 

Poor Burnaby was writhing under a most distasteful 
inquisition. The “boss hatter ” was putting questions 
to him somewhat like these : 

“You’ll succeed your father? Easy business to 
learn ? Anybody can manage a newspaper ? Brought 
up in it, doubtless ? Are editors well paid ? How 
many col-lumns does each man write in a day ? Has 
your father been long in the business ? How much 
did he have to start The Cyclone? Does he own it 
entirely ? How many copies does it circulate ? What 
does it earn yearly ? Is it the best paper in New 
Yorkf Do people advert-is in it? What is its 
politics ? ” 

“Really, you must excuse me,” said Burnaby, 
finally, rising frigidly. 

A moment more and he would have made his escape, 
but Mr. Mather, having chucked Mootla under the 
chin, came over to the group, and, unconscious of the 
above cross-examination, said : 

“ Great property. The Cyclone, I tell you, Wharton. 
I ’d rather control that journal than be President of 
the United States.” 

“ I was just asking Mr. Burnaby about it,” answered 

Wharton, 


1^2 


OK A MAllGIK 


“ Yes, the gentleman was manifesting a kind interest 
in the matter,” said Burnaby, with just a trace of 
irony in his voice that the shipping merchant detected. 

“ Perhaps he’s a newspaper publisher himself.” 

“ No, sir,” promptly rejoined Mr. Wharton. “ I am 
a wholesaler of hats and caps.” 

“ Indeed !” said Burnaby, seizing the cue quickly. 
“Know the whole business, doubtless ?” 

“ Yes, I flatter myself I do.” 

“ Did you succeed your father ?” 

“No, I am a self-made man,” was the pompous 
rejoinder. 

“ Began in a small way, then ?” continued Burnaby, 
pressing his advantage home. 

“ A man ought to start at the bottom.” 

“Certainly,” commented Burnaby. “Worked as 
an apprentice ? Grew up in it ? Easy to learn, I 
suppose ? How many hats can you make a day ? Are 
the wages high ? Could you ‘ block a hat for fifty 
cents ’ while I wait ? How much money, or how 
many hats did you start with ? Big store ? Much 
trade ? Nothing like hats, eh ? Yours the best in 
Boston ? How much do you get apiece for them ? 
What becomes of the old hats ?” 

Burnaby’s courtesy was marked. He drove the gaff 
into the old man’s throat according to the most ap- 
proved rules of the cock-pit, putting ever}'- question, 
with an increased manifestation of curiosity. It was 
not long before the old hatter realized he was being 
spitted, and tried to wriggle into some other theme. 


OK A MAR OIK. 


123 


He couldn’t get away from Burnaby. Cotton Mather 
was in a fog of mystification. He knew nothing of the 
young man’s provocation, but he could see that Whar- 
ton was thoroughly miserable. Great beads of per- 
spiration stood out on his forehead. 

Mootla re-entered from the hall with her companions 
and checked the conversation, which was becoming 
decidedly uncomfortable for Wharton and Mather. 
Mr. Burnaby excused himself and stepped over to the 
young ladies. He had hardly time to begin a chat 
with Miss Mabel Wharton before the butler entered 
to announce dinner. Burnaby promptly offered the 
lady his arm ; Walter gave his to the younger sister, 
and Mr. Lorrison, their companion, took Mootla out. 

The dining-room, which was open into the conser- 
vatory, was filled with the fragrance of flowers, and 
in the center of the table was a bright bed of roses. 
Burnaby was seated on Mootla’s right, and Mr. Whar- 
ton was gratified to find himself at the upper end of 
the table, close to his host. The dinner wa-s excellent, 
and well served, with two exceptions that Burnaby 
could not avoid observing. Instead of being warm the 
claret was hot, while the turnips were hard and cold. 
He could not repr.ess a secret feeling of surprise that 
the wine had been boiled instead of the vegetables. 

“Do you enjoy Herbert Spencer?” Miss Mabel 
Wharton asked Burnaby. 

Walter and Mootla exchanged glances with the 
rapidity of liglitning. Walter said with his eyes, 
“Didn’t I tell you she meditated trouble ?” Mootla’s 


m 


oj^r A MAnom, 


'retinae flashed back the confession, “I might have 
expected it.” Burnaby was not disconcerted in the 
slightest degree. He calmly replied : 

‘‘ Frankly, no. I do not relish his philosophy ; but 
I ’ve read so little of his work, perhaps, that I have no 
right to sit in judgment.” 

“ Why, Mr. Burnaby, I ’m surprised,” said Miss 
Mabel. “ He ’s great. What have you dipped into ?” 

“Let me see. I used to read him in the English 
quarterly reviews. The Westminster^ if I remember. I 
believe I digested some of his essays on “Personal 
Beauty,” “ Gracefulness,” or something of the kind. 

“ And you haven’t formed any opinion ?” 

“ Excuse me, but I didn’t say that.” 

“ Then I must insist on an estimate of his intensity.” 

“He certainl}’^ is a creature of stupendous ideas,” 
said Jack Burnaby, slowly. “Perhaps he was in- 
tended for some large planet and only lodged on earth 
by mistake. In Jupiter, I dare say, he ’d do well 
enough, but here he ’s ‘ an odd size.’ ” Then he added 
in a low voice, “Your papa will tell you what that 
means.” 

Miss Mabel’s eyes flashed. Walter was watching 
her carefully, while he tried to keep, up a conversation 
with the sister. He made an effort to catch Mootla’s 
glance again to warn her of the danger, but she care- 
fully avoided his eyes. Could it be that she welcomed 
war at her own table ? Mather and Wharton were 
talking earnestly together in low tones about the value 
of real estate in the neighborhood and chiefly intent on 


125 


ON A MAROIN. 

their dinner and the wine. Walter was in despair ; 
he “looked daggers” at Jack, who- returned his stare 
as unconcernedly as an old offender. 

“ I admire him, chiefly because he ’s a noble defender 
of the rights of woman,” said Miss Wharton, senlen- 
tiously. 

“ Does he class her among ‘ the Unknowable ’? 
When we decide what we don’t know we can begin to 
eat celery,” said AYalter, with much affected serious- 
ness, as he bit the end off a stalk of that vegetable. 

“No, indeed,” answered Miss Wharton, haughtily. 
“ He says, ‘ Equity knows no difference of sex.’ ” 

“Yes, but he cites the English statute, still re- 
spected by Parliament, which permits a man to beat 
his wife in moderation, or to imprison her in any room 
in his house,” said Burnaby. 

“ Only to condemn it,!’ was the quick explanation. 

“ In the sentence that follows, perhaps ; but his 
whole system of sociology sets out to prove that all 
we have of good or bad in society is the growth of 
evolution. He applies evolution to sociology, as 
Darwin does to Zoology. Therefore, whatever is is 
best, because it is the product of the survival of the 
better.” 

“But he defends woman,” argued Miss Wharton. 

“Again you mistake him,” continued Burnaby, 
realizing that he was combating the young lady’s most 
cherished belief. “He simply names several queens, 
artists, novelists and scientists among the sex, and 
dogmatically affirms that they are the intellectual 


1^6 


ON A MAROiN. 


equals of any member of the race of man. By the 
side of Alexander or Csesar, for instance, he would put 
Zenobia or Maria Theresa. With Newton he would 
match Mrs. Somerville ; Fielding or Dickens he would 
check off with Miss Austin, Mine. Daudevant, or for- 
sooth, Hannah More. To show the absurdity of that 
reasoning, I doubt if two of us at this table have the 
same estimate of any of these persons in history or 
literature.” 

“ I see nothing repugnant in the command and the 
responsibility of man,” said Mootla. 

Miss Mabel Wharton was silent. She had discov- 
ered that, although Burnaby did not claim to know 
anything of the new Synthetic Philosophy, he was 
quite as well informed about it as she was. 

“I fear that you’re an enemy of the sex,” purred 
the younger sister, looking straight across the table at 
Mr. Burnaby. 

Indeed I ’m not. Miss Olive. Though I admit that 
the ladies are a mystery to me,” answered Jack. 

“ He admits it, do you hear ?” exclaimed Miss Mabel 
vaguely. 

“Yes, I do,” granted Jack Burnaby. “We can’t 
all be Herbert Spencers ; we can’t all be handsome, for 
instance, and by a natural process of reasoning I could 
prove, without resort to a book of logarithms, that we 
can’t all be women.” 

“It’s a great pity,” said Miss Mabel, catching at 
the only straw afloat. 

“I take it we are willing to admit, for argument’s 


ON A MARGIN. 


127 


sake, that a few men are a necessary evil,” suggested 
Mootla, good hunioredly. , 

“ In order that the lovelier and better part of 
humanity may see, by frightful example, what it has 
escaped,” added Burnaby. 

“ Natural modesty,” rejoined Mootla, “ prevents our 
sex from saying much for itself.” 

“So the delightful duty devolves perforce on the 
other sex,” interjected Walter, again taking a hand in 
the general conversation. 

“We could not speak unkindly of the ladies if we 
would, for a man can’t kick his mother,” said Mr. 
Lorrison, feeling called on to add something to the 
discussion. • 

“At least not with impunity,” added Burnaby, 
quickly. 

“I mean the present state of public sentiment is 
opposed to’ it,” echoed Lorrison, looking very solemn 
and inclined to suspect that he was about to be guyed 
in his turn. 

“For my ^art,” resumed Burnaby, “I have the 
greatest respect for the ladies. They are the loveliest, 
daintiest, bric-a-brac imaginable.” 

“But they require cautious handling,” exclaimed 
Miss Wharton. 

“True; one can’t drop them without regret,” re- 
torted Burnaby. 

“ And they certainly can’t be ‘ picked up for a song,’ 
as the china gatherers say,” added Mootla. 

There was an ominous silence in the general conver- 


128 


ON A MARGIN. 


sation for a few moments as the last course of the 
dinner prior to the dessert was removed. 

“Very fine fruit,” said Mr. "Wharton, vaguely, 
almost the only word he had spoken for all ears at the 
table since sitting down. The purpose of the remark, 
as well as its malice, was evident when he added : 
“ How much would the pears cost in l?few York, Mr. 
Burnaby ?” 

‘‘ Pardon me, my dear sir,” rejoined the young man, 
with the most innocent look imaginable ; “I am not a 
green grocer, nor did I ever go to market.” 

Swords were crossed again, but Burnaby’s guard 
was so strong that the elder man couldn’t break it 
down. , 

“I gathered them myself and wrapped them in 
tissue-paper,” added Mootla, who had been arranging 
with Walter for a drive during the v^eek, and had 
only heard Mr. Wharton’s first remark in praise of the 
fruit. 

“I thought you had, for when you came into the 
room where Mr. Burnaby and papa wefe talking they 
looked at you as if to say ‘How black she is getting,’ ” 
retorted Miss Mabel. 

Burnaby looked the young lady who had spoken as 
nearly in the face as he could from his position by her 
side. Then turning to Mootla, who was growing pale, 
he asked, with the art of a Metternich : 

“ I am not a citizen of this glorious Commonwealth, 
Will you therefore instruct me. Miss Mootla ?” 

‘‘ Certainly,” she managed to say. 


OiV A MAUGIJy. 


129 


“ Which course shall I follow to conform to your 
code ? Shall I contradict Miss Wharton, or shall I 
tell you, my dear miss, that I think you as fair as a 
lily ?” 

“In either case, Mr. Burnaby, I should be proud of 
your good opinion,” answered Mootla, as the faintest 
blush of maidenhood appeared at her temples and 
slowly spread down her pale cheeks. Burnaby’s words 
made her inexpressibly happy. He was so clever, she 
thought, and she loved all clever people, her conscience 
told her. 

Thus was the dinner finished in safety, though that* 
most unhappy social phenomenon — a woman’s quarrel 
— hung over the feast. Mootla had prepared a novelty, 
just before the coffee, in the shape of roasted pistachio 
nuts, served with a small glass of port. These were 
brought on, after four kinds of pies, in a hot napkin 
and in their shells, which opened like mussels. 

Despite the mishaps of the dinner, the occasion was 
eminently instructive to Walter. Mootla’s self-control 
under great provocation, her tact, which alone had 
prevented a re-opening of the old feud between her and 
the Wharton girls, had not escaped him. As hostess, 
she was in no way to blame for the exhibition of ill- 
nature which her guardian’s guests had shown, and the 
toleration she had displayed, simply because the affair 
had occurred in her house (or .because Mr. Burnaby 
was present ?) stamped her as a young woman of 
shrewdness. 

^s they drove home together Burnaby talked tq 


130 


ON A MARGIN 


Walter much of Mootla. Visibly, she had made a 
lasting impressioii on him ; and though Walter was 
only able to partly explain the motive for the conduct 
of the Wharton giHs, it was undeniable that every act 
of Mootla’s had only increased the devotion which the 
two young men felt for her. 

The more Walter saw of Burnaby the greater his 
respect for the newspaper became. He already recog- 
nized it as the real source of a large part of his infor- 
mation. 

Burnaby believed that the daily newspaper should 
be suited to all classes and tastes ; that no single 
reader was expected to peruse its entire contents. A 
shop owner did not hope to sell his whole stock to 
the first comer who entered. Walter had studied the 
newspaper from a commercial vantage point likewise, 
and he saw that it was the only form in which litera- 
ture paid its wity. 

As soon as he was alone that evening Walter 
resumed the theme which had engaged his thoughts so 
earnestly in the morning. It required little wisdom to 
discover that the paths of trade chiefly led to wealth. 
He nipped in its incipiency all tendency to be a literary 
idolater, and made an end at the beginning. He 
loaded up his pipe and tried to reason it out with him- 
self. Admitting that a commercial life was his destiny, 
why waste his best years in school ? To go on, or to 
stop where he was ? That was the problem. The . 
longer he pondered it the deeper his perplexity became. 
Mechanically he resolved to submit his future course to 


ON A MARGIN 


131 


the arbitrament of chance — the Delphic oracle of the 
American college boy. The talisman was a gold coin 
which he always carried about him. Many ques- 
tions, serious and trifling, had it decided for him. 
Even knotty points of class-room diiDlomacy had been 
submitted to it. When it rained or snowed, “ heads or 
tails ” decided whether he' should go to recitation or 
stay in his rooms. The same agency sometimes de- 
creed that he should devote an evening to billiards 
instead of ^schines. So there appeared nothing phe- 
nomenal in his act as he gave the coin a ringing toss 
toward the ceiling, listened to its hum until it struck 
the floor, and then lighted a match to find it. jS’o 
doubts as to the wisdom of such an arbitrament dis- 
turbed his mind. The oracle must speak. On his 
knees, muttering, “Heads, I go; tails, I stay,” he 
prosecuted the search until he saw the gold piece with 
the face side upward. Liberty had spoken ! He was 
as firmly decided to leave college as though he had 
reasoned it out after weeks of thought. 

Trifling and silly are some of the guides to human 
action. In the Kavy it is the unwritten maxim with 
the officers of the deck — “ When in doubt, in the face of 
imminent danger, do nothing.” In other words, let 
things take their own course. Why not appeal to 
chance in doubtful moments ? It is an element that 
enters into human existence so largely that the man 
who allows it to direct his course may be the wisest of 
philosophers. He has, at least, the frankness to admit 
an* influence secretly recognized in the mind of man 


132 


ON A MARGIN 


since his career on earth began. While Walter was in 
this mood there came a knock at the door. He rose 
and opened it. A telegraph boy handed him a mes- 
sage. He tore it open hastily. It was from his mother. 
It informed him, in ten words, of the robbery of the 
Limestone Bank the night before, and the loss of the 
assets of the family therein deposited. 

Great as the shock was, Walter’s youth enabled him 
to recover from it almost immediately. He had de- 
cided a quarter of an hour before to leave Cambridge ; 
now there could not be any delay. Most of the night 
was spent in packing his trunks. 

The following morning he drove over to “The Wil- 
lows ” to say farewell. Until she heard his determina- 
tion, Mootla had been unusually bright and happy. 
Looking at her beaming face, it would have been im- 
possible to read there any ghastly family secret such as 
had been confided to him. So closely was it guarded 
that her benefactor. Cotton Mather, had never gained 
a hint of it. 

There was another and more potent reason for the 
fading out of the terrible vision of her girlhood. To 
put it bluntly, Mootla suspected that the man who had 
enacted the tragedy in the carpenter shop was not her 
father. This mental admission was a great comfort to 
her, and in making it the respect for her mother’s 
memory did not sutler in the slightest degree. 

Mootla’s manner toward Walter had become more 
sincerely affectionate since their chat on the cliff two 
months before, The reason w'as that, bit by bit, sh^ 


ON A MARGIN. 


133 


had gleaned from him the story of his escapade with 
the pauper woman. She easily fixed the identity of 
the sufiering mother. Walter stood revealed to her as 
the benefactor of a woman whom, all the world, even 
her daughter, had ignored. 

Before Walter had been gone from Cambridge a day, 
Mootla had awakened to a new grief. She was in 
awful doubt whether her poor mother was dead, as she 
had always been told. She secretly determined to visit 
Crumpet and make amends for what seemed heartless 
ingratitude. It was easy to convince the merchant 
that he had bjjBLness in i^'ew York. Mootla accompa- 
nied him. Once there, she frankly confessed her pur- 
pose in coming. , 

Cotton Mather hardly knew what to say. He 
assured her that he had a copy of the official record of 
her mother’s death. He begged her not to visit Crum- 
pet, and pointed out the impossibility of going with 
her. In the impetuositj'^ of his feelings he confessed so 
much that he was forced, injustice to the dead woman, 
to tell Mootla the sad truth. 

She was not crushed under the blow. She had so far 
anticipated it that no long dormant filial love gorged 
her heart with emotion. 

“I must ’go alone,” she said. 

The following day a lady dressed in deep black went 
to Crumpet by rail, secured a carriage, and was driven 
to Hopewell House. After a long search, with the aid 
of a ^gentle country parson who had read a priceless 
prayer over the corpse, the last resting place of “Mrs. 


134 


ON A MARGIN 


Alice ” was found. Without difficulty a permit was 
obtained to remove the coffin to the cemetery in the 
village. A lot was bought, and when the unknown 
stranger visited the place on the following day the 
transfer had been made* The mound was sodded, but 
no gravestone was ever set. 


'CHAPTER XIII. 

“ NOW !” 

“I nearly had to wait /’ — Louis XIV, 

What sort of a fellow is he ?” 

“Rather fresh, I should say,” rejoined the head 
book-keeper of Adolphus Dobell and Co., bankers and 
brokers, doing business under the shadow of Trinity 
church. It was early in the forenoon, and the employes 
were just getting down town for the day. 

“ Will he be here this morning ?” 

“So old Dolly said last night,” replied Spaulding, 
the head book-keeper. “ Did you get Gunwale’s notes 
discounted ?” 

“ Easily enough. The Copperas Bank took the 
paper,” answered the note clerk. 

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of 
several other employes who promptly began their day’s 
toil by gathering about Spaulding to discuss the new 
clerk whose arrival was momentarily expected. A 
young commission broker who did considerable curb- 
stone business for the firm, suddenly thrust his head 
inside the door and shouted : 

“ I say. Sticky ?” 

“Hello!” exclaimed Spaulding, answering to the 
nickname by which he was generally known. 

135 


136 


ON A MABOIN. 


“ He’s coming. Saw him on Nassau street a mo- 
ment ago with the old man. Look sharp !” and he 
vanished. 

After a brief interval Mr. Dobell, the head of the 
house, entered, followed by Walter Kawson. Every 
clerk in the place affected to be busy with his books. 
A few moments sufficed to introduce the young man to 
his future companions. Dobell did not believe in any 
formality, but merely said : 

“Put him through, Spaulding. He wants to learn 
the business ; give him a chance.” 

“ He shall have it, sir,” was the studiously polite 
reply. 

Dolly Dobell, as he was popularly known, passed 
into his private office, and, so far as appeared from 
his actions, did not think of young Kawson again for 
months. The old broker was a thoroughly moral man, 
as the world goes. Though he professed religion, he 
tempered his creed to shorn sinners, and, on occasion, 
could be thejolliest fellow in the Juniper Club. He 
was a person of indifferent education, and his fortune 
had been wholly the result of an accident. He pos- 
sessed a kind heart that at times asserted its suprem- 
acy over his natural hypocrisy. Broker’s clerks, 
struggling along under a load of small debts and the 
remorse of unrealized hopes, were wont to guy him as 
“ the little old man who gives ‘ pints,’ ” and pretended 
to despise his “ lack of nerve ” and his “ childish so- 
briety.” 

Under these influences Walter undertook to learn 


ON A MARGIN 


m 

the art of money-getting. Before many weeks he de- 
tected the first sophism of success, and weighed to a 
nicety the value of patience. “ All things for him who 
waits,” says the old saw ; but “ waiting ” was next to 
impossible for a character like his. He saw that the 
trick of being patient consisted in knowing exactly 
when the moment came to say “ Now !” and to act in- 
stantly. The patient man, in his opinion, was he who 
dashed forward with the future reasonably clear ahead. 

Walter kept his secret, but set about to study out 
this theory of success, while he mastered the purely 
clerical details of his work. 

Matters had meanwhile taken a sharp turn at Crum- 
pet. Under the spur of necessity, Mrs. Rawson had 
developed more energy and executive capacity than 
she had ever shown before. She moved quicker. Her 
blood circulated more freely. Her respiration became 
fuller — the vital current in her veins was better oxy- 
genated. With new duties sufficient to occupy her 
mind, she found less opportunity to dwell upon the 
constant imminence of “spells,” and she was soon 
able to withstand nervous attacks with fortitude. Her 
cheeks became ruddy. She entered on a new lease of 
life. 

At her husband’s death Mrs. Rawson had received 
the indifferent sympathy of «the community — that 
Crumpet sympathy that always comes too late — and it 
lasted just as long as there was reasonable probability 
tliat she would soon follow her companion to the grave. 
But when her health visibly began to improve — when 


138 


ON A MAnOlN. 


out of her apoplectic habit was evolved the energy of a 
new existence, this community naturally despised itself 
for having been deceived. 

The mental alertness of the widow was evident in 
her promptitude to recognize the changed feeling to- 
ward her and the tact displayed in overcoming it. Like 
many women, she never had known ambition. She 
had even been indifferent to public oj)inion. Now her 
eyes were open. She saw through the clear lens of 
her awakened mentality the local color given to all her 
acts. 

She comprehended that the first one whose in-* 
terests would suller was her son Walter. An ad- 
vantageous marriage for him was of paramount im- 
portance. Social standing in her own community she 
must have. It was essential to secure certain in- 
fluences which she hoped to exert in the city in 
Walter’s behalf. She at once set for herself the task 
of entering society. True, slie had less money than 
formerly, but she had more sense. 

Walter was calm and resolute. As we know, he had 
ideas of his own about the future. His marriage with 
Miss Yreeland gave him no real anxiety. He re- 
garded it as certain to occur, though he thought he 
had observed that the lady’s parents did not treat him 
as cordially as they had before the collapse of the 
Limestone Bank. He sometimes imagined, too, that 
Violet affected a haughtiness of manner in his presence 
that was unnatural. There was a difference in social 
position, he admitted to himself, between a landed 


ON A MARGIN 


139 


proprietor at Crumpet and a broker’s clerk in Kew 
York. But change in Violet’s heart ? Never. 

He had been in Dobell’s office several months when 
he called at the Vreeland city mansion one evening to 
meet Violet. He was coolly received by her mother. 
Mrs. Vreeland came into tlie parlor, but did not evince 
any disposition to seat herself, and answered all his 
inquiries curtly. Violet had gone during the after- 
noon to visit friends at Tarrytown, he was told. Tliere 
was apparently an uncertainty about her return. Mrs. 
Vreeland’s manner absolutely forbade any of the ques- 
tions which Walter, up to that moment, had felt him- 
self fully entitled to ask. His heart told him that 
Violet was in the house, and that she either did not 
know of his presence or that his visit was unwelcome. 
Walter was almost faint as he bowed himself out. 
Though he did not intend to surrender meekly, he 
recognized the new sorrow that hung over him. Loss 
of father, fortune, and future wife were surely more 
than his share of affliction. He called the next day, 
and the next ; but Violet was invisible. He wrote her, 
but no answers came. Must he give her up ? 

Despite his determination to hide the knowledge of 
his repulse from his mother, she read in his eyes the 
grief of a young man’s heart when he made his weekly 
visit to Crumpet. How changed was she ! Her 
motlier’s sensibilities were aglow. Formerly, she 
might have detected his paleness ; now, with her 
thoroughly alert shrewdness, she saw beyond the 
quivering lips and drooping eyelids. Walter told her 


140 


ON A MARGIN. 


all. This blow which she had secretly feared but hoped 
would not fall, roused her. She became great ; she 
rose to the emergency. She went to New York, con- 
sulted the family lawyer, discreetly mortgaged some 
city property of her own, and deposited the cash in 
the village bank. The carriage that she had given up 
at her husband’s death because the exertiop of riding 
wearied her, was re-established. She was driven along 
the river road every fair afternoon. 

“ Away with widow’s weeds !” she said. 

She became a regular attendant at church, and gave 
the lie to all rumors of poverty by dispensing charity 
in every direction that provoked comment. Dinner- 
parties next followed, served in every instance under 
the direction of the best caterer in New York. In a 
season’s time she was the social nabob of the village, 
courted by the best of the summer residents, and in- 
vited to all their receptions and dinners in the city 
during the winters. To New York she transferred 
her residence in October, closing the Crumpet home- 
stead and occupying pleasant apartments at one of 
the best hotels. She found for Walter more desirable 
waves than Yiolet, but he never appeared to under- 
stand her schemes. He clung despondingly to his 
first love. 

In his business, Walter’s progress had been earnest 
and regular. Curiously, he was jDopular wath his 
fellow-clerks, yet never sociable. Though he never 
criticised his employer in his absence, as did others, he 
did not truckle to him in his presence. He was quick 


ON A MAUQIN. 


141 


to comprehend an order, and prompt to execute it. 
His clear, sonorous voice presaged success, should 
he ever become a buyer on the crowded floor of the Ex- 
change. Yet Walter sometimes thought his lot a very 
bard one. He had given up so much — his home life, his 
c allege career, his fortune, his intended wife, and with 
her his future happiness. He felt deserted and lonely, 
but never posed to himself as a martyr. Nothing so 
dwarfs ambition as the self-consciousness of martyrdom. 
Other people’s pity is hard enough to bear, but when 
a man once begins to sympathize with himself his pride 
vanishes for ever. 

, At the end of an unusually heavy day’s work, Walter 
was detained by his books until after the other clerks 
had gone. The young man who acted as messenger 
and whose duty it was to close the office, stood wait- 
ing. His manner was that of a preoccupied spec- 
tator. who had his mind full of anxiety. Finally, he 
said : 

“ I beg pardon, Mr. Walter, but I’d like to know one 
thing.” 

“ There’s very little about the business that I can 
tell vou, George.” 

O, it’s not that.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“ How much income a week should a young fellow 
have to marry ?” - 

“Why, George, that’s a queer question,” answered 
Walter, half inclined to laugh until he saw the earnest- 
ness of his interrogator. 


142 


ON A MARGIN 


“ But, sir, do give me some idea.” 

“ I really don’t know. I suppose a couple of hun- 
dred,” answered Walter,’ absent-mindedly. 

“Merciful heaven!” exclaimed the messenger, half- 
involuntarily ; “ it’s a long way off.” Then he sighed 
and said to himself: “ Poor Eose I it ’ould break her 
heart.” 

“Eeally, George, you musn’t take my opinion as 
final,” stammered Walter, anxious to save the feelings 
of a man who was suddenly reyealed to him as a fellow- 
sufferer. A chord of sympathy was touched. 

“ I just thought I’d ask. I told Eose you’d know, 
surely.” 

“ It’s difficult to wait, but you’ll have to learn,” 
suggested Walter, merely to say something. 

“ But poor Eose ; she loves me so.” 

“Be satisfied, then,” was the quick rejoinder. “A 
good girl’s love is a fortune in itself. Treasure it in 
your heart, and you’re the richest man in the street.” 

Then he clapped his hat on his head and started for 
the door, muttering : 

“ Confound the fellow, he almost makes me preach.” 

George Cole locked up the doors, and carefully 
brushed his hat on his coat sleeve in the hall. 

A few minutes later he was climbing the stairs to 
the top floor of a neighboring building, where lived 
gentle old Tidd, its janitor. The house was filled with 
brokers’ offices, into all of which Tidd would penetrate 
ere long to clear up the wreck of the day. 

Personal integrity is rarely rated at its full value in 


ON A MARGIN. 


143 


this world. Here was a man who for twenty years had 
carried the keys to every office in this large building, 
who entered after all the proprietors and clerks had 
gone at night and before they returned in the morning. 
His methodical ways had counteracted numberless 
instances of neglect in others. Money, bonds, checks, 
receipts and valuable letters had been rescued from the 
paper mill by him. He never meddled, never read 
anything that was intended for other eyes, never 
pilfered even an envelope or a newspaper from the 
rooms he had under his care. He was a model 
janitor. 

His daughter Eose was a bright girl of sixteen, who 
had grown up high above the smoke and turmoil of 
Wall Street — in a pure atmosphere that the struggling 
slaves of Mammon never breathed. The few hours 
each day that she passed at school were all that were 
taken from her attendance on the household duties, 
and devotion to young George Cole. He climbed to 
good Janitor Tidd’s attic every afternoon after his 
day’s service was complete. There he was treated as 
one of the family. 

“What’s wrong, George?” asked Eose, anxiously, 
the moment her lover entered that evening. 

She was putting the cups on the table for the early 
supper which the family’s peculiar hours of labor ren- 
dered necessary. Their work began when 'that of the 
tenants ended, and often continued until late at 
night. 

“ Why, Eose, just think of it ; Mr. Eawson says I 


144 


ON A MARGIN 


must earn two hundred dollars a week before we can 
marry. ’ ’ 

And the silly fellow was on the verge of shedding 
tears. 

“ Is that all ? Well, he don’t know anything about 
it. Come, set the chairs up on that side.’’ 

“But we must wait, Bose.” 

“Yes, a few years perhaps, but not until your wages 
are at that figure.” 

The family entered, and the guest sat down with its 
members to sup. 

Walter Bawson had come to New York with a few 
thousand dollars of ready money, which, fortunately, 
had not been on deposit in the Limestone Bank. Most 
of this sum he still had, and with it he hoped to re- 
trieve his shattered finances. His interest in Professor 
Morton’s invention had been forgotten. Walter had 
never seriously regarded it as assets, because he had 
not' gone through bankruptcy. .Probably he had not 
learned that the possession of stock certificates, costing 
little, but representing large sums on their face, is one 
of the modern methods employed by insolvent specu- 
lators to account for absent funds. 

One day he received a letter from Professor Morton. 
It was postmarked Vienna, where he was exhibiting his 
speaking telephone at an international fair. Before a 
week all Europe was excited about the invention. 
Every mail from Europe brought news about the won- 
derful machine. Secret agents of large capitalists came 
to New York to buy all the shares that could be found. 


ON A MARGIN 


145 


Almost before he knew of the demand the price rose to 
the fabulous figure of $2,000 per share. 

Itawson looked over his boxes and found one thou- 
sand shares, and with a wisdom far beyond his experi- 
ence, he allowed a covetous world to have the stock at 
that price, through a half dozen discreet brokers', in 
such a way that his ownership was never suspected. 

W alter liawson quietly deposited his two millions in 
four banks, and pursued the dreary routine of his office 
work. He was not slow, however, to take advantage 
of all information gained through his connection with 
the house of Dobell & Co. to operate for his own advan- 
tage. The rules of the office prohibited it, but arbi- 
trary laws bind no man’s conscience. An instance will 
suffice. A prominent customer of the firm and a 
director of the Harlem Railroad was closeted with 
Dobeii one day. He left an order to buy several thou- 
sand shares of Harlem stock. Fort Sumter had been 
fired on a month before ; business was in confusion, and 
the buying of any stock for a rise appeared madness. 
'W alter understood the situation, however. He recog- 
nized the purchaser’s “inside” sources of informa- 
tion. 

, He went out to luncheon at noon, and drawing his 
check for $22,000, ordered his confidential broker to 
buv him two thousand shares of Harlem for cash. 
From $11 the stock rose in five weeks to $87 per share, 
at which price he sold out, realizing* profits to the 
amount of $150,000. Prosperity did not make him 
vain. His caution and silence were such that his 


146 


ON A MARGIN 


fellow-clerks did not suspect the financial giant that 
was nursing in their fold. 

Ilis twenty-second birthday found him the possessor 
of two millions and a half of money, all self-acquired. 
Still he retained his clerkship at Dobell’s, and drew his 
weekly salary of $20 with the utmost punctuality. 
About that time an interesting incident occurred. 
AV alter was lunching at Delmonico’s on Beaver Street. 
A friendly hand touched him on the shoulder and a 
cheerful voice said : 

“ How are you, Walter ?” 

“Well; but very busy,” answered the young man, 
turning to find Violet’s father by his side. 

“ I’m sorry we don’t see you at the house as often as 
we’d like, my boy.” 

“ Indeed, Mr. Vreeland !” 

“Yes; Violet and her mother often speak of you, 
and complain that you are attending so closely to busi- 
ness that you forget all your old friends. You must 
come up,” and the social diplomatist moved off before 
Walter had time to stammer a reply. 

As the moth returns to the flame, so does the lover 
to his lady. Walter was so overjoyed that he did not 
stop to ascertain that old father Vreeland was a di- 
rector of a bank which had half a million of his money. 
So long as Violet had appeared indifferent to his visits, 
Walter thought he had successfully mastered his affec- 
tion for her ; bilt now that he had even an indirect in- 
timation that she loved him, he forgave all the heart- 
ache that he had charged to her account. In the 


ON A 3IARGIN. 


147 


impetuosity of his devotion he did the weak act of his 
life. How could Walter seek for hidden motives in a 
lieart that he had studied from boyhood ? 

“Dear girl, I always thought she loved me,” he ex- 
plained to himself. Then he concluded, more thought- 
fully, “ I’ll make another appeal to chance — I’ll marry 
her.” ' . 






yjlW. / .ii, 




CHAPTEK XIV. 


PROFESSIONAL PLATITUDES. 

“I CONFESS to being entirely baffled,” said ex- 
Surgeon-General Prentiss, as he sank into one of the 
great arm-chairs in Cotton Mather’s smoking-room at 
“ The Willows ” after dinner. 

“You surely understand something of her malady 
by this time ?” queried the host. 

“Candidly, no. She is absolutely controlled by im- 
pulse — a slave to the unex*pected.” 

The eminent specialist in nervous diseases delighted 
in epigram. If he only understood what his well- 
turned phrases meant he made himself sufficiently 
clear. ^ The less others comprehended him, the more 
exalted ideas they generally had of his scholarship. 
But he was now addressing a different sort of person 
from the usual hypochondriac, a hard-headed man of 
trade who thought all epigrams were riddles. There- 
fore, without evincing the slightest admiration, the 
merchant said : 

“Yes, yes, I know. But, doctor, what the devil is 
the matter with the girl ?” 

“ I regret to say I cannot diagnosticate her case,” an- 
swered the specialist in nervous and mental diseases, 
148 


ON A MARGIN. 


149 


considerably taken aback by the blunt manner of his 
companion. 

“ But surely you can offer some advice ?” suggested 
Mather, with a slowness that implied both surprise and 
disgust. 

“To indicate the difficulty of my task,” began the 
physician, now on his mettle, “let me sketch out to 
you the facts as I have classified them^after ten days of 
careful observation. When I first came to your house, 
ostensibly as your guest, I studied Miss Mootla, to de- 
tect, if possible, whether she suspected or had divined 
the object of my visit. At the end of forty-eight hours 
I was satisfied that she was thoroughly ignorant of 
your motive in sending for me. I began to think that 
I had a simple case of excessive vitality, as it were — to 
make myself clear to you. The cause did not concern 
me at that time, for I preferred to reason back from 
effect to cause.” 

“Well, how did you go about it?” exclaimed 
Mather, restlessly knocking the ash off his cigar. 

“I cultivated her society as much as possible, with- 
out obtruding myself on her,” continued the physician, 
'iffecling not to notice the interruption. “ Here was a 
Tather handsome young lady, perfectly healthy in body, 
but erratic and odd in her habits. Contrast, for in- 
stance, her apparent health with her capricious, even 
fantastic appetite. One day all food on the table is 
palatable ; the next meal nothing pleases her. You 
will recall the circumstance of her dropping a glass ot 
claret while at dinner on Monday ?” 


150 


ON A MARGIN. 


“Certainly, a trifling accident, liable to occur to 
anybody,” was the somewhat sullen reply. 

“There you are mistaken. I was observing her 
carefully at the moment. She let go the glass — I mean, 
purposely dropped it on the floor. That, too, without 
tasting the wine. For an instant her command over 
herself was magnificent. Nothing could exceed the 
calmness with which she covered up the results of the 
curious impulse to which, only an instant before, she 
had slavishly yielded. The impassibility with which 
she said to your butler, ‘ Another glass, Robert, almost 
deceived me. Y ou will admit that the incident hardly 
occasioned a passing thought.” 

“It really did not,” rejoined Mather, manifesting 
more interest in the physician’s conversation. 

“I have observed that she has a marked relish for 
vinegar and all kinds of sour fruits, and also that the 
anaemia thus induced augments her distemper. Her 
character is full of color — I might say, bizarre. Her 
affections are as deep as her hatreds ; both classes of 
emotions seem readily within reach at an instant’s 
notice — ‘on tap,’ as it were, to make myself clear. 
Her charming and gentle disposition in the morning 
changes to gross incivility, without warning and gen- 
erally without provocation. Her self-love is simply 
extravagant ; but she is not incapable of the most dis- 
interested acts. ” 

“You are severe ; but, upon my soul, I believe you 
are just,” exclaimed the merchant, thoughtfully. He 
was probably going over in his mind the scene in 


OiV A 3/ABGIM 


151 


drawing-room when Mootla wounded his own vanity so 
deeply. 

“ The psychological novelties of the case are the ex- 
aggerated exhibitions of terror, joy, jealousy, love or 
rage, always out of proportion to the importance of the 
event evoking them, and sometimes an emotion directly 
contrasting with the natural one is seen. The most 
trifling event is enough to provoke enthusiasm or 
despair. 

Kobody I ever knew could cry so easily or laugh 
so soon afterward. She has no idea of the sim- 
plicity of life, but makes of it a complication. Exist- 
ence appears to her mind like a scene in a theatre. 
The regular every-day routine is transformed into a 
series of grave events, adapted to all manner of dram- 
atic embellishments. Comedy, tragedy and the flat 
scenes of reality are all on the same plane. Has she 
ever been in love, Mather ?” asked the doctor, giving 
an abrupt turn to the conversation. 

“Ho, I am sure she has not,” answered the mer- 
chant, but after a moment’s pause he resumed long 
enough to say: “Unless— but I must not be ridicu- 
lous,” and he chuckled to himself. 

“I think I divine your thought. You would say 
‘Unless with the sacred cow.’ Exactly the idea. 
That was an excellent example of exaggerated affec- 
tion. The grand passion would produce a very differ- 
ent effect on her. But you are right, sir ; I had 
answered the query in my own mind before I asked 
you. Mootla has never been in love I Such questions 


M 


ON A MARGIN. 


must be conclusively determined in a diagnosis of a 
case of hereditary hysteria, such as hers is.*. Distem- 
pers of this kind have long been classed among erotic 
diseases, but wrongly, I am satisfied. That hysteria is 
a nervous affection no longer admits of reasonable 
doubt.” 

To judge by his twistings and turnings in the great 
arm-chair he occupied, Mather was in danger of an 
attack of the same complaint. 

“What is the trouble with Mootla? What is hys- 
teria — how did she get it ?” exclaimed the merchant, 
so seriously that the doctor was for an instant on the 
verge of subjecting himself to an unceremonious kick- 
ing through the door by laughing outright in the mer- 
chant’s face. The struggle to keep back the smiles 
was almost too much for him, and nothing but the 
summary treatment which he knew his host capable 
of inflicting enabled him to control himself. 

Cotton Mather was unlike his father in that respect ; 
he could not endure ridicule. That was the only means 
of attack that aroused his anger ; under its lash his 
temper became ungovernable. Even Mootla ventured 
upon that method of subjection with great t^ct and 
more discretion than she showed in any other way. 

The distinguished surgeon grappled with the first 
part of the merchant’s question more heroically than 
he would otherwise have done, in the hope of sooner 


♦ According to V Union Medicale^ January, 1844, the cure for hysteri- 
cal women is to direct them to take champagne twice a day, but always 
out of a teacup. 


OK A MAH am. 


153 


forgetting its final clause and the manner in which it 
had been addressed to him. He hastened to say : 

“Two opposite forces control or direct the acts of 
every human being — sentiment and will. The will 
enables us to command ourselves, as well as others. 
Sentiment, or to make myself clear, I may say judg- 
ment (or even discretion, to generalize) should direct 
the will. It indicates what is wise to tell, what to 
suppress ; what emotions to obey, and what to reject. 
The absence of will in persons afflicted as Mootla is, 
soon destroys all discretion, and sentiment becomes 
merely whim. They do not comprehend what is meant 
by the power of ruling the passions. Like the hasheesh 
eaters, they float with the tide of fancy or enthusiasm. 
To them there seems to be no transition era between 
laughter and tears, despair and satisfaction.” 

“You have given me enough science, sir. I acquit 
you of a lack of observation, God knows ; but, surely, 
you can tell me what I can do to check the progress of 
the distemper,” said Mr. Mather, very seriously. 

“I fear that I can do little for her. It is possible 
that more excitement or society than she sees here 
might change the current in which her mind seems 
drawn. If she could be induced to surrender to some 
grand passion ; in fine, if she could start on a happy 
married life by eloping with the man she loved, she 
would prove a model wife — she would be cured.” 

“ Then you would recommend ” 

“ Marriage, sir.” 

Just as the diagnosis was complete, Mootla sprang 


164 OJ^ A MAE am. 

into the room through an open window, and said, 
cVieerily : 

“Doctor, you are a specialist in mental disorders. 
Can you tell me why the eating of corrosive sublimate 
produces insanity in the cockroach ?” 

“What!” almost gasped the physician, realizing 
that Mootla had overheard his previous remarks. 

“ Yes ; I began by feeding one of my pet cock- 
roaches rat poison. It was fatal. Then I tried another 
on corrosive sublimate. It made him crazy as a hood- 
lum. The wretched roach tumbled somersaults, and it 
would not have required a Commission in Lunacy to 
adjudge him mad. I have started a private asylum for 
insane hugs. I am in search of a specialist.” 

The physician was nonplussed, hut the merchant 
was highly amused. It did not require an “expert” 
to see that he enjoyed the rough handling “his wicked 
little girl ” was giving the learned gentleman. 

“You surprise me. Miss Mootla; you are, indeed, 
quite an experimentalist,” stammered the doctor. 

All this rattling badinage of the girl’s, he compre- 
hended, showed off his scientific disquisition in a ridicu- 
lous light. There was no stopping Mootla, now that 
she was started. 

“ The merit of my school of alienism is that I start 
toward the cure with a perfect knowledge of what has 
produced the disturbance in my patient. That is half 
the science of medicine, you doctors all admit. If I 
only knew the ‘why,’ which I had hoped you could 
give me, every link in my system of medicine would be 


Oir A MARGIN. 


155 


complete. If corrosive sublimate produces insanity in 
a healthy organism, of course it would cure it in a 
diseased mind.” 

“ Have you effected any cures ?” asked the Surgeon- 
General with as much good humor as he could com- 
mand. 

“ Let me think. Oh, yes, there was case Ko. 19 — a 
complete triumph. The patient was a black beetle. 
He wouldn’t touch the specific. Por him not to eat 
it was for me to lose a patient. Old practitioners say 
they ‘ lose a patient ’ when he dies, but we of the new 
school lose him only when he resolutely refuses to get 
sick. Do you follow me ^ 

“ I think so,” stammered the physician as their eyes 
met. ’ 

“Well, how did you act?” asked Cotton Mather, 
earnestly, manifesting much more interest in Mootla’s 
banter than he had in the “guaranteed” medical 
knowledge of the ex-Surgeon-General. 

“It was an inspiration, uncle. I remembered that 
one can eat anything with plenty of curry. So I 
brought some from the kitchen and sprinkled the 
specific with it. The gentleman beetle ate ravenously, 
and I had him under a padded thimble-case in half an 
• hour. He was roaring, raging crazy ” 

“You use the pronoun Gie ’ in describing your pa* 
tient. You should not be so cruel to the male sex.” 

“Well, I spoke of the beetle as ‘he,’ perhaps, be- 
cause he opened his mouth at the wrong time,” she 
answered, quick as a flash. 


156 


OS A MARGIN. 


“ And j"Ou cured him of the madness !” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Give us the treatment.” 

“ Certainly, in professional confidence. I took a 
very fine and sharp scissors and clipped off his head ' 
neatly.” 

Cotton Mather went into a convulsion of laughter. 

“ It was all one whether you did it neatly or not,” , 
quickly suggested the ex-Surgeon-General, thinking he 
saw an uncovered spot on which a foil’s point might 
reach his masked antagonist. 

“ To the patient, yes ; but to the science of surgery, 
no. As a beetle he was worthless ; hut as evidence ot 
the efficacy of the cure I labeled him and pinned him 
to the wall.” 

“ Sad fate.” 

“True ; hut it serves him right for coming within 
range of science ” 

The housemaid entered to announce that the car- 
riage was at the door, and ex-Surgeon-General Prentiss 
drew his watch much as he might have drawn a weapon 
of defence, to say : 

“ Bless me ! I have only eight minutes to make the 
train !” * 

Mootla bowed coolly, turned sharpl}^ on her heel, 
went quickly through the door and into the conserva- 
tory, muttering : 

“ Idiot, ass — the spy !” 

Cotton Mather hustled his “ expert ” into the car- 
riage with less ceremony than usual, shut the door 


OJV^ A MARGIN. 


15t 


rather more abruptly than was his wont, and in a tone 
of ambiguous significance'shouted to the coachman : 

“ Drive hard, Patrick ; don’t miss the train.” 

Each member of that trio was alone for at least an 
hour. 

• The distinguished surgeon was still blushing at his 
discomfiture. Plis chief consolation was found in the 
thought that he could square his account with the 
family by presenting an inordinately large bill for 
services. 

Cotton Mather had enjoyed without comprehending 
the by-play. He admired Mootla more than ever. 
She, on the other hand, was the only one who knew 
exectly what she was about. She was seated in the 
conservatory, viciously tearing some flowers to pieces, 
stamping her foot, repeating, again and again : 

“ Confound his impudence.” 

The subject was only referred to after several 
weeks, and by Mootla. One evening as they walked 
on the lawn, she asked Mr. Mather : 

“ What is the punishment meted out to spies ?” 

“ Death,” was the innocent reply. 

“And very justl}',” commented she. 

Here the subject of Mootla’s health dropped for all 
time. The merchant allowed the incident to pass into 
forgetfulness. He had every confidence that she would 
outgrow her bodily ailment. He arranged his business 
affairs, and then suggested a trip to Europe. 

Mootla seized on the project with avidity. They 
sailed in a steamer from Boston, After a brief stay in 


158 


ON A MANOIN. 


Paris, guardian and ward went to Nice, where the win- 
ter was passed. Thither it is not the purpose of this 
narrative to follow them. The Americans attracted 
much attention. Mootla, in the full bloom of woman- 
hood, was to be met (^very bright afternoon on the 
Promenade des Anglais, taking the air. Long drives 
on the Cornice road, frequent jaunts to Monaco, many 
daylight excursions on the water and by land, and 
numberless garden parties at night, with all the accom- 
paniments of colored lanterns, music and dancing, made 
this winter season the happiest of Mootla’s life. The 
improvement in her health was so remarkable that 
Cotton Mather already declared himself to be the great- 
est “ specialist” living. 

Miss Daisy Miller, an alleged American girl, was met 
several times during the season ; but Mootla resolutely 
kept the presumptuous young person out of her set. 
The Boston girl could not tolerate the greasy Italians 
and impoverished Englishmen who were constantly 
seen in the lady’s company. The courier who kept 
such scandalous espionage on Miss Miller, Mootla de- 
nounced without hesitation as a blackmailer and a 
rascal. Mootla was slightly the elder of the two 
women, and was infinitely the superior of Miss Miller 
in intelligence, education and tact. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A DAY OF DAYS. 

Walter could not sleep. His dreams were filled 
with the direst forebodings of coming evil. He stood 
on tlie brink of a yawning precipice, over which a host 
of young nymphs gleefully strove to hurl him. Xext, 
he was gazing from the window of a vast drawing- 
room that overlooked this gulf. He was entirely 
alone. The wailing wind, which he had heard so plainly, 
died away, and to his surprise a musical theme that 
■took possession of his thoughts communicated itself to 
the atmosphere. He inhaled melody with the air. 
Obedient to his lightest fancy, the overture of “ Zampa” 
succeeded the Jewel Song from “Eaust.” How rap- 
turous a place ! A shadow swept across the apartment. 
A wondrously beautiful woman, dressed in floating 
drapery of coral pink and white, approached noiselessly, 
and, without observing him, stood gracefully at his 
side. The delicate lines of her figure, the glowing color 
of her fair skin, could be clearly discerned beneath the 
shadowy folds of her veil-like robes. Her face was in- 
deed so dazzling that in his rapture he heard no longer 
the fairy anthem to which she had entered. So close 
was she to him, he could feel the warmth of her presence. 
Motionless, she gazed into the distance, far beyond the 

159 


160 


ON A MARGIN. 


clouds. She discovered him, and, with a smile that 
promised heaven, welcomed him. He was about to 
speak, when she turned upon him impetuously. One 
side of her face was a grinning skull ! And with a 
jeering laugh — an echo straight from hell — she sprang 
through the window into the abyss. He hid his face 
in his hands, and, shivering with terror, fell — sprawling 
out of bed. 

Walter made no further attempt at rest. He lit his 
gas, partially dressed, and sat down by the fireside to 
think. It was only four o’clock. And he was to be 
married at eleven in the morning. On the brink in- 
deed, of a new existence. 

The last hours of bachelorhood embody the doubts 
and the hopes of a lifetime. Far more momentous to a 
young man seems the step about to be taken than to a 
maiden. He realizes beforehand the radical change in 
his habits ; she, not until afterward — often, .never. To 
^ him, care ; to her, irresponsibility. To him, the end of 
youth; to her, the beginning. With him the double 
state is relative ; with her, absolute. To him, marriage 
is a crisis ; to her, destiny. To him, the mingling of 
the two lives seems accidental ; to her, ^lature’s own 
sweet will. 

Walter clung to a cigar he had lighted longer than 
usual, almost burning his fingers in trying to keep it in 
his possession. He looked over his wardrobe and linen 
for the last time, adding to the gifts he had already laid 
aside for the clever fellow who served him in the double 
capacity of janitor and valet. 


ON A MARGIN 


161 


Here was a bundle of photographs — girlish faces, 
bright and fair. He lingered over the memories they 
awakened. Secrets all, and sacred. He couldn’t de- 
stroy them even now. A glove, too — a white glove, 
soiled and torn. Ah ! he remembered. It was hers ; 
as soft as the velvety flesh it had covered. He had 
begged it of Nannie — poor Nannie, where is she now ? 
— that he might send her a dozen in its stead. Those 
spots — were prints of his kisses. ■ This rent — made by 
him as he pretended to assist in removing it from her 
hand. And it would have to go into the fire ? Ah ! 
how near to every joy is an attendant sorrow ! 

These were his last hours as a squire, awaiting ad- 
mission to the order of knighthood. 

He was watching his arms, alone with their memo- 
ries, conformable to the chivalry of his time.* 

Dawn ! The first light of his wedding-day. Why 
his anxiety ? A church ceremony was no new sensa- 
tion, surely. He had witnegsed many of them. Ah ! 
but this was to be his own wedding. There was a dif- 
ference in that. 

“Put McGinnis in the dock !” shouts the District- 
Attorney. 

The prisoner takes his place. He has been indicted 
for murder in the first degree. 

“Cheer up, man,” whispers his counsel, smiling. 
“The trial will be very short.” 

' - - # 

,* See revised editions of Amadis de Gaul and Don Quixote. 


162 


ON A MABGIN. , 


“ Don’t be in a hurry, for there’s a halter at the end 
for me.” 

A marriage ceremony at Grace Church. This was 
not tlie first one. The custom of marrying will never 
go out of fashion, and there'll be many imposing cerC' 
monials in the future ; and yet they will not equal this 
one in dig]iity, for Ambergris, the presiding genius of 
church weddings, is now dead. There will never bo 
another Ambergris. But he was aliv^e when Walter 
married Violet.^ 

Like the enterprising sextons who furnish “a whole 
funeral” at a fixed price. Ambergris often contracted 
to supply a complete Avedding. He was, certainly, the 
most important functionary of the church. Rectors 
and clioristers came and v\^ent, but Ambergris moved 
u[) and down the aisles perennially. Quite as many 
strangers went to Grace Church to see him as to hear 
the serihons. A wedding occasion siiowed him at his 
best. His usefulness began with the delivery of the 
cards of invitation — a pleasant service which he dis- 
charged with uniform satisfactioji. The decoration of 
the edifice could, witli equal confidence, be left to his 
discretion. He always reached tlie church about one 
hour before the time fixed for the ceremony, and the 
doors were never opened until he arrived. 

In this instance it was Violet’s Avish to be married by 
candle-light. Ambergris caused all the AvindoAvs to be 
hung with heavy draperies, and tAV(A tliousand candles 
of the purest wax sparxled under the vaulted ceding 


ON A MARGIN. 


163 


like a nebulous procession of stellar worlds. The in- • 
vited guests streamed into the church at the great 
doorway. Long lines of carriages were striving to 
set down their occupants nearest the carpeted pave- 
ment. Crowds of idle spectators, culled by natural 
selection from the flood tide on Broadway, jostled each 
other near the door — men, women, children ; maids 
who wished to see a fellow-mortal on the way to the 
altar ; men who could well sjjare the time they had no 
other way of wasting. 

• Through the portals, out of the sunshine into the op- 
pressive haze of the parish church, moved the steadily 
advancing host of invited guests. 

Ambergris stood at the inner door, the Napoleon of 
the hour — the only obstacle between the perfect order 
that reigned and a mad rush for favored places. He 
directed the ushers with marvelous calmness and skill. 

“ Friends of the bride ? ” — to the right. “Relatives of 
the husband ?” — to the left centre. Here, there, every- 
where, never anywhere, he placed the orderly multi- 
tude. 

Soon the edifice was full. Then was Ambergris in 
his glory. Then became apparent the majesty of his 
art. He understood the advantages of a crowded 
building. He knew it would be filled, for theatrical 
managers are not the only people who “paper their 
houses ” on great occasions. So he went on for twenty 
minutes, after every pew was apparently filled, seating 
all who came. Contrary to the general belief, late 
arrivals are the delight of a professional like Ambergris, 


ON A 3IABGIN 


104 

Suddenly every whisper ceased. A signal to the 
organist ; Mendelssohn’s magic inarch music lloated out 
over the great congregation, through the pillars and 
arches ; a draught of cold air from the street ; the heavy 
curtains parted, and the bride, on the arm of her 
father, entered. The procession formed by ‘ ‘ the high 
contracting parties ” and the bridesmaids and grooms- 
men moved slowly to the altar. “Who giveth this 
woman in marriage ? ” Rightly enougli, the one man 
^ wlio knew her whims and extravagances. And the 
father bestoAved his daughter as freely as God had 
given her to him. The ring was handed about until it 
rested firmly on the finger of the bride. The final 
prayer was said, and Waiter and Violet rose from their 
«nees, husband and Avife. 

All Walter’s gloomy Ausions of the night had van- 
ished into the thin aii* of dreamland — forgotten in the 
new emotions of tlie moment. 

The pair had hardly left the church before this most 
orderly of assemblages joined in a Avild rush for the 
street to get a last look at the bride. 

Tlie couple AA^ere driA’^en aAvay from the church, ap- 
]iarently to the railroad station. In reality, they 
me]’ely Avent to a fashionable hotel on Broadway, 
wliere, unknown to their friends, they passed a fort- 
night of unalloyed happiness. A trip to Niagara, a 
Aa)yage doAvn the St. Lawrence, and a week at the 
quaint old city of Quebec completed the bridal moon. 

Gn his return to tlie city, Walter RaAA^son purchased 
a seat in the Exchange, and fitted up a suit of offices, 


ON A MARGIN. 


165 


where, until after the close of the Civil War, .he de- 
voted himself closely to business. One of the features 
he introduced was direct communication with his i^rm- 
cipal customers, by private wire. He was alert, intel- 
ligent, competent. 

He was, in addition, a student of his time. 







CHAPTER XVI. 

THE ESTATE OF POLITICS. 

The smoke of a hundred battles had barely cleared 
away. Four years of sorrow and poverty among the 
multitude had assisted in the distribution of vast wealth 
among a few men. A new order of society had arisen 
— the political estate. 

It had been born and developed while the nation was 
convulsed with civil war. It had entrenched itself 
while the patriotic people of the country were zealously 
engaged in the life or death struggle; and thus it had 
escaped observation. Its only loyalty had been devo- 
tion to self. Its leaders had interested themselves in 
the commercial phases of the conhict. They had 
gambled on the destiny of the nation. On early and 
secret information -of a crushing defeat to the Federal 
arms, they had bought gold for a rise. This they 
called “Discounting the Dead.” Selling the market 
for a decline on the eve of a brilliant victory was de- 
scribed as “Coppering the Government.” 

Having risen, phoenix-like, from ashes and blood, this 
new estate of man spread its wings for the royal flight 
of the eagle. 

But victories or defeats no longer afforded means for 


ON A MAliGIN. 


167 


advancing or depressing the national honor. Other 
methods of progress must be devised. 

Meanwhile, the clan pushed its trustiest represen- 
tatives to the front of the councils of the state. It , as- 
serted its right to a share in the I'uling of the nation, 
to recognition in the framing of the foreign, as well as 
domestic, policy. 

Some of its members were worth millions, though 
innocent of any moral conception of the patience and 
toil attending the usual methods of amassing wealth. 
They were as ostentatious as if they had gathered 
their money according to the strictest integrity ; and 
in tlie rush for lucre that set in, not a few upright 
men, who had made the world’s tight with only mod- 
erate success, envied them in their hearts. 

These the distinctive types of the men who assumed 
to rule the nation : 

First : — The Timocrats, represented by two classes : 

(1.) — The commercial nabob. Having spies in every 
public department, and at the headquarters of every 
army corps, he utilized every act of the Government 
in Wall Street, just as he had the victories and defeats 
during the rebellion. He was not a hypocrite. He 
was the originator and the financial backer of the 
prevalent and shameless traffic in office, and dealt in 
politics as in guano. He hoped for the establishment 
of a government by the rich. 

(2.) — The professional statesman. Under the guise 
of public service, lie as.sisted in the impoverishment of 
the struggling nation. He went to Congress to be use- 


1G8 


ON A MARGIN. 


ful to the other members of the clan, and often grew 
shrewder and richer than the men wdio started him on 
his infamous career. He entrenched himself on one of 
the committees, such as Finance, Railroads, Postal 
Affairs, Navigation, or Public Lands, and thereafter 
played with loaded dice against the people whose votes 
had elevated him to the post he dishonored. He was 
meaner than the professional gambler, who discounte- 
nances marked cards. The honest and toiling trades- 
men of the nation took the risks of business, while this 
creature took none. Even the nabob, the vulgarest 
parvenu — who had furnished the money that first cor- 
rupted him — despised the professional statesman for 
his demagoguery and hyi^ocrisy. He hated him, also, 
because the servant had grown beyond the control oi 
the master in riches and power. 

Second — The Professional Hero. He had hung by 
favor to the skirts of the real soldiers of the civil war, 
risking little, having nothing to lose, not rich, but will- 
ing, yea, mad to be so. Generally without trade, pro- 
fession, or visible means of support, he had to be 
disposed of by the creation of numberless foreign con- 
sulates, or stowed away in the railroad offices controlled 
by the men whose secrets he largely shared. Many of 
his kind were constantly to be found in New York and 
Washington, waiting, hoping, but never discouraged. 
They were the medium of communication between the 
commercial and legislative branches of the estate of 
politics. They were ready for any radical change in 
government or society. An aristocracy or a dictator- 


OiY A MARGIN. 


169 

ship would have delighted these free lances of fortune. 
Peace restored, the sudden and startling fluctuations 
in the price of “ gold *’ came to an end. The course of 
the Pactolian river shifted. The great speculators 
ceased trading in gold — abandoning that amusement 
to the small board-room dealers who “scalped tho 
market ” for the eighths and quarters of one per cent. 

The nabobs and their followers plunged pell-mell into 
railroad speculation. Walter Kawsonwas now on their 
track. He kept close at their heels, and never lost 
sight of them for a moment. He had watched the rise 
of this new clan. He gauged well the shrewdness of its 
members and estimated to a nicety the boundless 
wealth it represented. He had decided to make these 
sheep his mutton in the future. 

■ The nation was awake ; trade began to revive. All 
eyes were turned toward the railroads of the land. 
The people craved excitement and speculation supplied 
it. The stock list — beginning with half a dozen ex- 
press and steamship companies — grew downward as 
name after name was added, like a banyan tree, but 
rank and noxious as the upas. 

Tlie development of vast systems of internal com- 
munication evolved still another race from the regions 
of the unknown — men of boundless ambition, of limit- 
less and apparently intuitive possibility and unques- 
* tionable nerve. Among them were a few who origin- 
ated brilliant schemes and altered geography so deftly 
that their fellow-citizens whom they impoverished were 
amazed and gratified. 


m 


OW A MARGIN. 


The contagion spread to the other side of the Atlan- 
tic. The Gulf Stream changed its course, pouring its 
warming, cheering millions of English gold upon our 
shores. What a rivalry I 

Were the Britons to reconquer the States ? Was 
America to be outdone on its own ground by foreign- 
ers ? Never I 

Boxes that hadn’t been opened for a generation were 
forced ; mortgages were converted into cash ; govern- 
ment bonds were ‘hypothecated. Everybody engaged 
in the mad purchase of railroad securities. 

It was as easy to build a line of railway as to kick a 
sheep. All that was required was cash enough to pay 
the engraver, map-maker, and printer, and in nine 
cases out of ten, these persons accepted their wages in 
stock certificates. 

All schemes, however chimerical, could command 
support. No dream was so wild that its real or fancied 
claims failed of recognition somewhere, though the 
methods of the “ promoters ” were as crooked as the 
routes of their roads. 

For instance, to select the worthiest of all the enter- 
prises of the period, a line of rails had been projected 
across the plains to California. A few men decided 
that it must be built. Congress was asked and actually 
gave away thousands of acres to the mile. Though they 
loved their country, the promoters knew what a mile* 
meant. They had a system of mathematics of theii\ 
own. Axioms were converted into paradoxes. “ The 
shortest distance between two points is not measured 


ON A MARGIN, 


171 


on the straight line that joins them,” said they. To 
dogmatically assert the contrary was to confess one’s 
self no wiser than Euclid — a mere teacher in an Egyp- 
tian school. He never built a railroad that had a land- 
grant of 12,000 acres to the mile ! He might have 
done very well, they were willing to admit when a. 
street-car route was to be laid out in Alexandria, but 
for a great national enterprise, such as this — why, he 
never “sized up” to it. The road was run with as 
many “lines of beauty” as possible, so that there 
might be more miles and more land. 

Then these gentlemen hired a company of themselves 
to build the road at an extravagant price ; and paid 
themselves in bonds and stock at a low' valuation. 
Having sold all the best public lands to themselves, for 
as little as they dared, they resold them to the railroad 
for whatever they chose to ask. The same was true of 
every tie and rail laid, every spike driven, and every 
piece of rolling-stock purchased. The profits of these 
transactions were known by various names. Profes- 
sional statesmen spoke of .them as “loans;” the mili- 
itary adventurers as “ commish ;” and the nabobs as 
“rebate.” Forty millions of people — who did not 
share in these profits — scandalously dubbed them 
“ steals.” 

The system, w^as such a thoroughly practical one for 
getting rich, that the few persons wdio managed the 
national, state, and municipal politics introduced it 
everywdiere. 

Millions of British capital continued to flow into the 


172 


ON A MARGIN 


United States seeking investment in tne many new and 
projected lines of railwa}". Walter liawsoirs inspira- 
tion was to divert this current into channels that he 
controlled. He looked over the ground carefully, wdth 
the aid of a trusty agent or two. 

Much of this money, he discovered, was being swal- 
lowed up in the completion of a line running from 
Ovieda to one of the largest cities in the West, called 
the Dawn and Sunset Railway. This road had been 
surveyed and mostly graded prior to the v^ar, but it had 
languished until the revival of tlie speculative craze, 
when it had been caught up and completed off-hand 
with funds from England. The enterprise was pushed 
forward with such an utter disregard of expense that 
before the last spike was driven its affairs were hope- 
lessly involved. Here was the opportunity Walter 
Rawson had foreseen and awaited. What passes cur- 
rent for genius is often cold-blooded premeditation. 
By means of a foreclosure suit, which he brought as a 
bondholder (for anybody could be a bondholder), he 
was able to procure from an Ohio judge an order for 
the immediate sale of the road and rolling stock. Pend- 
ing the auction, one of Rawson ’s confidants w^as ap- 
pointed receiver, and the financial condition of the 
Dawn and Sunset Company became a dead secret. 

The sale occurred at a city recently christened Buff- 
land* on a raw ^^ovember morning. Twenty millions 
had been spent on the road, but the bondholders saw 


* In a social treatise called “ The Breadwinners.’ 


ON A MAHGiN. 


173 


no prospects of its paying fixed charges, not to speak 
of dividends on the stock. Not wishing to see their 
property rights sacrificed, however, they had appointed 
a committee to bid in the road if it went too cheaply. 
Local railways that paralleled or crossed the great 
trunk line had their delegates on the ground, in the 
hope that amid the general wreck they might catch 
some bit of salvage. 

For the first quarter of an hour tlie conflicting local 
interests wrestled with each other. Their representa- 
tives were timid, and some of them bid in the half- 
hearted, cautious wa}^ that indicated a fear that the 
road might be knocked down to them unawares. The 
agent of the Three X’s dropped out at four millions. 
Then the bondholders’ spokesman came to the front, 
and the price was slowly advanced eight hundred thou- 
sand dollars, at which point there came a lull. The 
road was about to be bought in. 

On the edge of the crowd that gathered ’round the 
sherifTs auctioneer stood a man above medium height, 
enveloped in a dull gray overcoat, and whenever the 
auctioneer glanced in his direction he looked as inno- 
cent as a city salesman on his first visit to a country 
village. But this stranger only waited to hear the 
auctioneer say “ Going” once when he manifested an 
uncommon, and, so far as could be judged by others, 
an unwarranted interest in the proceedings. He 
promptly added $25,000 to the last bid. Then he stood 
a raise of $15,000, and went $5,000 better. Now all 
eyes were centered on him, and everybody was asking his 


174 


ON A MARGIN. 


neiglibor who the stranger was. Nobody knew. That 
was his strong point ! Nor did they know that he had 
carefully walked or driven along the entire line of the 
road within a month previous, and was as well in- 
formed of its actual condition as if he had built it. 
After some slow work the stranger shouted : “ Forty- 
nine hundred thousand.” 

Then the bondholders withdrew for consultation. 
Even the auctioneer slowly repeated the bid with a 
strong rising inflection — “Forty-nine hundred thou- 
sand ?” When he had done so several times, the 
stranger vouchsafed the simple but firm rejoinder. 
“ That was my bid !” The bondholders’ committee re- 
turned to the charge, and the stranger stepped nearer 
to the auctioneer, so as to confront his antagonists. 
By gradual steps the two rivals ran up the price to an 
even $5,000,000, and the climax was reached by the 
unknown adding $10,000 to that amount before the 
auctioneer had time to cry the previous bid. The de- 
termination he displayed ended the sale at this point. 
Almost hesitatingly, the sherift’s auctioneer declared 
the Dawn and Sunset Railway sold for $5,010,000. The 
sheriff then asked the stranger his name, but was no 
wiser when he heard it. “Walter Rawson,” was the 
reply ; but his actions spoke trumpet-toned, for, enter- 
ing the sherifTs office, he drew from an inside pocket of 
the capacious overcoat a bundle of exactly $100,000 in 
crisp registered government bonds. The sale was 
legally certified, subject to a further payment of 
$4,910,000. 


ON A 3IARGm. 


175 


■There is a vast difference between a great specimen 
of characterization and a great character. In reality 
Rawson was only a man whose life was a romance, 
because he grappled and dealt adequately with ex- 
traordinary times and events. 

Rawson had according to the terms of sale only three 
months in which to raise nearly five million dollars. 
But he was shrewd enough to know that if it could be 
done at all the time was ample. Money is always ob- 
tainable for any scheme where the investor can be 
shown that he will double his holdings in six months. 

The rest of the story regarding the rehabilitation of 
the Dawn and Sunset Railway is brief enough. Walter 
Rawson hurried to New York, placed his plan before a 
half dozen of the leading bankers of the metropolis, or- 
ganized a “syndicate” (as such a combination was 
afterward called) that took new bonds and stock enough 
to supply the purchase money and yet to leave him two 
million as a balance to his personal credit. The pre- 
ferred stock was allotted to “ the insiders ” at $40, but 
it rose to $60 per share within a few days after it was 
put on the market. The money which he had derived 
from his own bonds Walter promptly reinvested in the 
shares of the corporation at “ inside ” prices, and 
thereby secured more profit than any other individual. 
He elected himself a director, and at once set about 
carrying out a grand ambition known only to himself. 
This scheme was nothing less magnificent than the 
leasing of the Dawn and Sunset Road to the Cyclops 
Railway. The latter trunk line started from the 


176 


ON A MARGIN 


metropolis, traversed two of the most important states 
of the Union, and sought an adequate terminus in the 
rapidly developing Western country. A double result 
from such a lease was inevitable. A guarantee of 
seven per cent, on the Dawn and Sunset bonds by the 
Cyclops Company would lift the preferred stock of the 
former road to $90, while the drain upon the parent 
corporation, caused by assuming this new burden, 
would depreciate its bonds and stocks and hasten un- 
timely collapse. 

Walter Rawson reorganized the Dawn and Sunset 
management. He created a board of directors to suit 
his tastes, naming among them two already notorious 
members of the- political estate, John Gall and Reuben 
Pinchover. Then he set about effecting the lease to 
the Cyclops. A sheaf of proxies in the hands of Gall, 
Pinchover and other earnest and determined friends 
sufficed to seat Walter Rawson in the Cyclops board. 
The invasion attracted little attention, and even such 
stockholders as grumbled admitted his capacity, when, 
several months later, it was announced that a lease of 
the Dawn and Sunset Railway had been secured. It 
was represented to the financial world as a master 
stroke — the consummation of a long and delicate nego- 
tiation on the part of the older corporation to add a 
Western feeder. Rawson was such a clever talker that 
not a man on the Cyclops board, except himself, but 
thought the lease a benefit. 

Thus did Walter Rawson create “The Great Con- 
solidated Cyclops System,” giving to Kew York its first 


ON A MARGIN 


177 


through trunk lin^ to Cincinnati and St. Louis. A few 
bold acts had given him large capital as well as power. 
With these two factors he was ready for the contest 
with man. He was not a parvenu, however ; he came 
of a race of money-makers. 

There were a few men who stood between him and 
the game he wanted. They were the marauders of the 
public lands. He had never shared to the extent of a 
dollar in their crimes. They were not prepared for 
such a foe, having only had a lot of venal and deluded 
men in Congress to cope with. He hoped to take from 
them their lands and their roads. Having got their 
railroads he would shoulder them upon the members of 
the political estate. 

In the course of the fulfillment of this ambition, 
Walter Kawson coined the now famous expression ap- 
plied to victims of speculation : 

“ Shearing the lambs.” 

Embarked on this quest our Argonaut of the nine- 
tentL century changed his policy of life. He strove to 
make the world hate rather than esteem him. To dis- 
trust rather than believe in him. Forever afterward 
he traded on the “short side” of his own character. 

It was a novel idea. We shall see how it prospered. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE CAT OF PHAROAH. 

Reasons existed for Cotton Mather’s visit to 
Europe, other than his anxiety to have Mootla’s 
health restored. He had become since the close of 
the Rebellion a thoroughly disgusted and disappointed 
citizen of the Republic. He hoped, therefore, by 
travel and absence to restore a faith that was gone. 
The great and generous Peabody had given up his 
native land, and Cotton Mather was hopeful that he 
might fathom the motive therefor. 

Cotton Mather’s history during the war has not 
been recited, because it was known throughout the 
land. A brief reference to that period is only rendered 
necessary as showing the causes of a radical change of 
heart. He had stood, firmly as a rock, on the side of 
the Federal Government. The night after Sumter was 
fired on he presided at the extraordinary mass meeting 
In Faneuil Hall, at which Phillips, and Butler, and 
Everett, and others raised their voices against seces- 
sion and disunion. A memorial to President Lincoln 
was prepared, pledging the wealth and the lives of the 
people of the Commonwealth to the suppression of the 
Rebellion. Three months later, Cotton Mather equip- 
ped a regiment of Massachusetts troops, wholly out. of 
178 


ON A MARGIN 


179 


his own means. Two of his largest ships he presented 
to the Government for transports. Throughout the 
long war, he insisted on sending his vessels to sea, in 
the face of danger from the Alabama and Shenandoah, 
so that the American flag should not be forgotten on 
the ocean. Nearly one-half of this splendid merchant 
fleet, the greatest this nation has ever known, was 
burned by the Confederate privateers. Still, he never 
lamented or lost heart for a moment. All his father’s 
pride of country was rekindled in him. 

He did not garner a single dollar during the tempest 
of death, and would have despised himself had he 
speculated against the nation in its distress. 

When peace was restored, it became with him, more 
than ever, a flxed theory that all Americans were 
honest. He was among the earliest to extend the hand 
of commercial fellowship to the strick'en South. In the 
city of New Orleans alone he put out a line of credit 
exceeding one million dollars. He found hope for the 
South everywhere except at Washington. 

Clinging to the integrity of democratic form, he was 
unprepared for the treatment portioned out to the 
merchants of the North by the Congress of the United 
States. The neglect of the law-making body became 
unbearable. The losses inflicted by the piratical cruis- 
ers were insignificant compared with the injuries to 
American commerce imposed by the obnoxious and re- 
trogressive legislation of congress. Blunder succeeded 
blunder, until every merchant felt justified in presum- 
ing malice. Of all branches of national industry, the 


180 


ON A MABGIN. 


carrying trade on the seas had suffered most severely 
from the civil war. Congress, nevertheless, encouraged 
the very nation that had covertly and openly aided the 
cause of disunion, he argued, and took out of American 
hands the profits of carrying abroad the products of the 
United States. 

Cotton Mather counselled patience. lie believed in 
Congress as he did in constitutional government. lie 
waited. Surely, he thought, some one will check this 
llux of disastrous legislation. But he saw with con- 
sternation the spreading of Congressional indifference, 
the elevation of blind devotion to party above that to 
the people. By slow and unwilling steps, and from a 
point of view widely different to that of Walter Baw- 
son, he was confronted with the political estate. 

Thinking that the pernicious legislation was in some 
measure attributable to the negligence of the mer- 
chants in making protest, he went to Washington at 
the head of a committee composed of the prominent 
ship owners of this land. There he found the blindest 
ignorance regarding the trade of the country, attended 
by what always consorts with that mental state — stub- 
borness. 

The Committees on Commerce of both Houses gave 
the visitors audience, but their members did not evince 
the slightest interest in the matter, yawned when the 
merchants spoke, and never referred to the subject in 
any future session of the committees or on the floor of 
Senate or House. Several members, when personally 
visited by Mr. Mather and his coadjutors, even under- 


0]^ A 3fARGTK 


181 


took to argue the desirability of having other nations 
perform the labor of transportation for the people of 
this country. They ridiculed the building of vessels 
out of iron — these men who, in many instances, had 
never seen any craft save mud scows and canal boats. 
Nothing was done ; but the merchants of New York, 
Boston and Philadelphia saw new steamship lines 
started, one after another, on foreign capital and sailing 
under foreign colors. For, remarkable as it may ap- 
pear, laws existed absolutely prohibiting American 
merchants from buying ships where they were cheap- 
est, though any other wares could be purchased in the 
markets of the world ! The corollary of that enact- 
ment denied the right of any ship-owner to sail his 
vessel under the flag of the IJnited States unless she 
liad.been built in this land. This, too, at a time when 
all steamships were made of iron, and there was not a 
single iron shipyard on the American coast ! 

Cotemporary with such legislation, he saw politics 
converted into a national industry. lie ^detected the 
alliance between the nabob and the professional statesr 
man. His unwilling mind blossomed with surprises. 
The instant he realized that votes were bought at 
home he understood why ships had to be purchased 
abroad. 

A venal and demoralizing epigram, “All’s fair in 
politics,” was an accepted, unwritten maxim of state. 
So corrupted was the popular imagination, so tainted 
the national pride, so weakened the country’s patriot- 
^m, that a few bold leaders could have taken the New 


183 


ON A MARGIN. 


England or Pacific States out of the Union almost 
without Congressional protest. The crushing truth 
hurst upon Cotton Mather one day on Pennsylvania 
avenue while walking back from the Capitol, and he 
exclaimed : 

“Politics is a trade, like the making of boots and 
shoes !” 

He beheld in the eyes of many men he met an un- 
blushing confession of cupidity and dishonor. He was 
a keen observer, and, goaded on by indignation, he lost 
sight of nothing. He saw the good name of his country 
daily kicked about the corridors and into the dark 
corners of every committee room in the east and west 
wings of the Capitol — the football of upstarts whose 
fathers had been shoeless. 

He read, with utter amazement, long discussions re- 
garding the national debt participated in by men who 
never had enjoyed a bank account before reaching 
Washington. In fine, he admitted in his heart that if 
this were Hot already the most corrupt Government on 
earth it was on the high road to that distinction. The 
future looked black. He saw no way of dethroning the 
Dynasty of the Dregs. 

Thus developed one hopeless patriot. 

He returned home to his beloved Massachusetts, but 
grew more despondent every day. He strode about his 
lawn at “ The Willows,” sullen and silent, for hours at 
a time. 

Then ex-Surgeon-General Prentiss, another product 
of tbe war, came to the homestead in his official capacity 


0]^ A MABOm 


183 


of physiological and psychological expert. His society 
diverted for a while, but when the practical merchant 
detected how little he had learned about Mootla’s ills 
and how easily the young patient had rent asunder the 
Bpecialist’s intellectual armor, he voted him a bit of 
pinchbeck like the rest. 

In such a frame of mind he put his affairs in snug 
condition and sailed for Europe, as we know. 

He was received with honor and distinction every- 
where. It was a great surprise to him to find that his 
commercial reputation had preceded him, for he had 
never known vainglory. But amid all these diversions 
he could not shake off the malaria that had entered his 
nature during the winter in which he had studied life 
in Washington. 

One night he was seated in his private parlor in the 
Hotel des Anglais, at Nice, reviewing the old and pain- 
ful subject in his mind. Mootla had gone to bed some 
time before, and he had about finished his final cigar. 
He felt, as if for the first time, all the indignation of a 
naturally pure mind when unsuspected betrayal of con- 
fidence is detected. By this time, however, he could 
name names and conjure up at will the faces of the 
venal ones. Now, he argued with himself, he knew 
them thoroughly. Nothing more contemptible, he pro- 
tested, had been encountered in the wide range of his 
experience than the typical Congressman — nothing that 
could be traded in easier. 

With humiliation and shame, the merchant mentally 
conned the prices at that great exchange on Capitol 


184 


' ON A MARGIN. 


hill. Quotations varied with the activity and gravity 
of legislation, and the scale of honor moved up or 
down according to the same laws of supply and demand 
that fix the market value of coffee or logwood. The 
transactions were confidential, principally because the 
public, who supplied the men and the money, could not 
be allowed to form too cheap an estimate of their repre- 
sentatives. Though daily bought and sold, the Con- 
gressional conscience could not endure to be reminded 
of the transaction. The hide of the professional states- 
man, too, was as pliable as his conscience, he thought, 
and as tough as the crocodile’s. 

“Aye, the crocodile’s!” almost shouted Cotton 
Mather, rising to his feet, and beginning to pace the 
floor. ‘ ‘ The rough-shod reptile 1 But he has his 
match, his destroyer, the — the — let me see, the ichneu- 
mon ! Its presence will drive the crocodile from the 
swamp of his ancestors. In an unguarded moment of 
saurian repose, the ichneumon takes a header down 
his throat. Once there, ha, ha ! it leisurely proceeds 
to eat away his bowels.” 

The magnitude of this idea exceeded the compre- 
hension of Buff on, who mentions the curious tradition 
of natural history only to discredit it. Here was the 
germ of a corrective policy, a practical and radical 
method of inculcating the doctrines of morality, of 
teaching men their duty, and at the same time com- 
pelling them to do it. 

This new ethical philosophy first took form in the 
exclamation ; 


ON A MARGIN. l85 

“By Jupiter, I’ll put the iclineumoii on their 
track ! ” 

Mather tried to calm himself, but it was impossible. 

“I see it now,” he champed with rage. “It's a new 
dispensation. Men won’t be honest unless forced to be 
so. I have outlived my time. Theirs has come. If 
my theory of life be wrong, so is theirs. Men who work 
no longer get rich. Hail to the politician and the 
man who owns him. In America everybody is mad. 
Its social system is warped. Under it fortunes are 
made in a day — often in an hour. What follows ? 
First, the family is corruj)ted ; then the channels of 
trade, even of religion, become tainted ; next,, the bench 
and tlie municipal government is contaminated ; later 
the soul of the Commonwealth is rotted out ; and, 
linally, taking lodgment in the national capital, cor- 
ruption poisons the fountain of civic honor. The pro- 
fessional politician is responsible for this political 
l)y£einia. He needs rebuke ; he shall have it. He has 
robbed me, and allowed another nation to do so. He 
has insulted me. He will next question my loyalty. 

D n him ! he must be taught better. His is a low 

game, but I’ll beat it. I’ll put an ichneumon inside 
his carcass ! ” 

And, in his excitement, the old man hurled his ^ 
lighted cigar against the plate-glass window, supposing 
it open. Then he went to bed, muttering : 

‘ ‘ Crocodiles, alligators — all ! But I’ve got them now !” 

Again his mind found voice, as he jerked open his 
vest in the process of undressing : 


186 


ON A 3fAIiO/N. 


“Who knows the expression or feelings of a croco- 
dile with a healthy enemy on the inside ? I’ll soon 
know how some of these rascally Congressmen look and 
act when they’re at my mercy. Oh ! we shall see. I 
have been a cursed fool ! Ha, ha ! The ichneumon ! 
Won’t know one when they see him ; so innocent, so 
good, so stupid. Humph ! ” 

As he climbed into bed another idea occurred to 
him. He’d buy a newspaper — a dozen newspapers, if 
need be — and turn them loose on his scaly enemies. 

His final thoughts might have been a prayer, but the 
last words be -uttered aloud were not. He said : 

“ I’ll go to work at them, and they shall go to the 
devil ! ” 

Cotton Mather never procrastinated when he had de- 
termined on a course of action. He left Nice in a few 
days, placed Mootla in a school at Mayence, and took 
passage for New York. 

He planned his vengeance during the voyage, and 
devoted the rest of his life to its execution. 

It is one of the mysteries of creation that every 
species has a natural enemy. Thus was conjured into 
being these destroyers of the political estate — these 
two avengers of an outraged nation. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

• THE TAINT OF AVARICE. 

Marriage eifected far less change in Walter Raw- 
son’s life than he had supposed it would. Business 
had the same passionate attraction, though he was 
greatly devoted to his young wife. 

With wealth and the smile of society assured, Violet 
enjoyed the new happiness she had found. In Walter’s 
eyes she developed all the gentleness and affection that 
her childhood had presaged. She welcomed her visit- 
ors to the luxurious apartments at the Brevoort House, 
where the contented couple dwelt, with the grace and 
ease of manner inherited from her mother. The Vree- 
land decorum was the essence of good breeding. It 
could not be counterfeited. Its reserve was respectful 
and gracious, without a trace of humility ; its egotism 
could be proud, haughty, even imperious at times. Of 
Mrs.Vreeland it was said that she never bowed to two 
people alike. 

The formalities of the wedding*dinners given to the 
young couple by the two families may be passed over 
briefly. 

The reception at the Vreeland mansion was managed 
with all the art of Pinard. The dinner at the old 
Rawson homestead in Crumpet, whither Walter car- 




188 ON A MARGIN 

ried his bride soon after their return, was less ostenta- 
tious, but not less enjoyable. It was the last social 
event of any importance in the life of Mrs. Mary Eaw- 
son. She was aware of the value attaching to the re- 
ception of the young bride, and nothing was wanting 
that could contribute to Violet's happiness. If tlie 
wife had had any doubts as to the feeling of Walter’s 
mother toward her, they were removed forever. 

According to a mutually expressed wish, Walter and 
Violet lingered for a few days in this village. Together 
they revisited all the scenes identified with their chikb 
hood ; they strolled along the paths once kept bare so 
largely by their own footsteps. There was a pleasant 
memory at every turn in the road. 

They went together to the Vreeland mansion, ten- 
anted at that season only by the old housekeeper. The 
house was ready for its summer occupants, who wei’e 
expected in the course of a week or ten days. With all 
the coyness of a maiden, Violet took her lover husband 
up to her own room to show him the cage she had occu- 
pied from her early girlhood. It was prepared for the 
hal)itation of an eldfer sister, then widowed, but every- 
thing yet remained just as Violet had left it. Here was 
lier dressing bureau. The great wardrobes were empty, 
yearning for the dainty dresses that never would occupy 
them again. Here, beside the window looking toward 
the gate, stood her writing desk. It was the outlook, 
she explained, Avhence she always descried her lover’s 
coming. Here stood her bed. Walter regarded it Avith 
reverence and curiosity. Its delicate lace spread, its 


ON A MARGIN 


189 


snow-white pillows, exquisitely worked with her name ; 
the curtains that draped it — all were characteristic of 
Violet. In this room, doubtless, she had often thought 
of him — perhaps she had even dreamed, of him, he ven- 
tured, with some diffidence, to ask her. She blushed, 
went to her writing desk and brought a tiny book in 
which she had been wont to write furtively. ' It was 
not a diary, but a treasury of thoughts that lingered on 
the page as though the}" had been carried thither on a 
moonbeam. She opened it. On the first page that 
caught his eye, dated “Day of our betrothal,” Walter 
rea^ : 

“ O Gentle, Gracious One, guardian of my happiness, 
let no, evil wake us from this dream of joy. Watch o’er 
us ” 

“At that point I went to sleep,” said Violet, laugh- 
ing, as she clung to Walter’s arm. “ I always wrote in 
this book in bed the last thing at night.” 

This trifling incident impressed Walter deeply. He 
turned and surveyed the room. It seemed the most 
sacred shrine on earth. Never would he destroy that 
mental picture — never would he enter there again so 
long as he lived. 

Back in Wall Street, Walter saw that history was 
making itself very rapidly. He found that the bitterest 
enmities are contracted in trade. He learned that 
friendships are as brittle as glass ; that honor has a 
“ shave ” on the floor of every exchange. 

Not far from him, in the same building, he discov- 


m 


ON A margin. 


ered his father’s old protege, Catesberry. This enter- 
prising individual was credited with having lost every 
dollar he had by the robbery of the Limestone Bank. 
His private box of securities had been found cut open 
and empty. It was, therefore, a matter of congratu- 
lation from his friends that Catesberry’s wife had 
inherited a small amount of money with which she 
had bought a comfortable prop'erty at Fort Washing- 
ton. 

Walter sympathized sincerely with Catesberry, and 
gladly joined in a movement among the former direct- 
ors of the dead Limestone Bank to start the unfor- 
tunate cashier in life again. 

So far as the world knew, Catesberry’s character was 
absolutely above reproach. There was only one man 
acquainted with his crime, and Gilroy was not likely to 
appear as his accuser. The ex-cashier felt no anxiety 
in that quarter. Catesberry had few if any customers, 
but Bawson contrived to throw considerable business 
in his way. 

About this time there was a great spur given to 
stock speculation by a single invention. The discovery 
of America is usually regarded as a rather important 
historical and commercial event ; but to the new estate 
of man that grows rich without toil the invention of 
the “stock ticker” outshines the achievement of 
Columbus. This machine has an overmastering power 
for good or evil. It is* the most gigantic engine that 
ever was created to serve the speculative purposes of 
man. It records daily transactions in the city of New 


ON A MARGIN 


191 


York alone aggregating from fifty to eighty million of 
dollars. 

That it could be used to create and to lead public 
^opinion, instead of merely recording it, Walter saw be- 
fore it had been in use a week. He recognized its 
future potency, its universality, and the volume of its 
voice before he had watched it a fortnight. He saw in 
it the one essential requisite for the rapid rise and de- 
pression of values — publicity, instantaneous and wide- 
spread. He saw in it the magician’s wand, and he 
determined to know how to juggle with it. 

When the tape ceased to flow from its jaws, Walter 
turned his thoughts to Violet. He hastened home the 
instant, three o’clock struck. He believed himself 
madly in love. 

What were Violet’s ideas of the new condition in 
which she found herself ? She probably had never had 
a serious thought on the subject. She enlarged rather 
than contracted the circle of her acquaintance, even 
angled for admirers among the young men, after the 
manner of other highly refined and respectable mar- 
ried women. The daily procession of modistes and 
jewelers’ clerks began to move, and her maid soon 
relinquished her mistress’s hair to the hands of a 
barber. 

The first summer she made the acquaintance at Sara- 
toga of a dashing young man of the world. Together 
they waltzed, together they strolled along the veran- 
das ; and when the pretty Violet returned to the city 
In the autumn she playfully added his name fo her list 


193 


ON A 3IARGIN. 


of devotees. The summer had been an unusually 
active one in speculation, and Walter had found little 
spare time to pass with his wife at Congress Hall. She 
had, however, introduced him to young Oliver Belwar, 
though Walter had not given him a serious second 
thought. 

But Belwar never lost sight of anybody who could be 
of future service to him. 

During the early part of the winter, Mr. and Mrs. 
Rawson attended an evening party at the Burleigh’s. 
It was the first regular “affair ” of the fashionable sea- 
son. There was no happier man in the metropolis than 
the young broker as he handed his pretty wife down 
from their carriage at the door of the brilliantly lighted 
mansion. Within the house it was a struggle to reach 
the cloak-rooms. There, on one fioor, the queens of 
society and a throng of ladies’ maids, summoned to 
assist them, jostled each other ; on the next story the 
gentlemen had all their wants attended to by ebony- 
hued servants. 

This couple had arrived late, for scarcely had Mr. 
and Mrs. Rawson paid their compliments to the hostess 
and exchanged salutations with a few acquaintances, 
before the orchestra was heard and the dancing began. 
As the magic violin led the waltz, Violet glanced round 
the large parlors. Her heart gave a start, for she saw 
among the throng the young man whom she had com- 
pelled to walk beside her triumphal car during the 
length of the Saratoga season. There was something 
in the calm assurance of his glance that brought the 


0]^ A MARGIN. 


193 


blood to Violet’s cheeks. He was in Hew York, in her 
circje of societ}’ — face to face. At Saratoga he was well 
enough ; here he was in the way. 

Ho sooner had the music ceased than Mr. Bel war 
approached and paid his respects to Mrs. Kawson. He 
was re-introduced to her husband, for Walter had en- 
tirely forgotten him. The young man’s manners were 
goo'd ; he made himself agreeable at once. He was not 
so foolish, however, as to mar the advantage he pos- 
sessed over Violet by remaining long at her side. He 
said a few pleasant words to the lady, delicately flat- 
tered her pride, and then moved away. 

They often met during that winter and spring — by 
chance, apparently, and only for a moment at a time. 
Whenever Violet drove in the Park in her phaeton 
alone she was sure to see him ; when she was in the 
brougham by Walter’s side, strangely enough, Oliver 
Belwar’s dogcart never was encountered. When she 
“shopped” at Gourd’s, Stalwart’s, Bly’s, or other 
fashionable drapers, the young man often happened to 
be in quest of some trifle of lace or a peculiar shade 
of kid-gloves (“for a sister at boarding-school,” he 
explained), and sought her taste in preference to his 
own. At Scruples, whenever new pictures were an- 
nounced, she encountered him in the same unexpected 
manner. At Toffey’s — they were both seeking wedding 
presents for friends. 

These meetings soon ceased to surprise Violet. She 
did not mention the incidents to Walter at first, because 
she attached no importance to them. Soon she felt 


194 


ON A MARGIN 


differently, and then she dared not tell him. She feared 
that he would ask, “ How long has he been annoying 
you thus ?” or “ Why did you not tell me before ?” In 
truth, she was not annoyed. All her vexation had 
imssed away. This harmless intimacy, she reasoned, 
was the natural outgrowth of the gay season at Sara- 
toga. Many young married women, she knew, made 
an effort to attach young gentlemen friends to their 
train. It was not only perfectly proper and highly 
fashionable to do so, hut his society served to relieve 
many a monotonous hour. She held him, she thought, 
as well as ennui, at arms’ length. But now she saw 
that the fellow was a skilled diplomatist in social life. 
Until he was sure of his ground, he had been so adroit 
in his attention that she could not have “cut” him, if 
she had so wished. The old subterfuge that many an 
honest woman has employed before Violet’s time to rid 
herself of an over-zealous friend suggested itself— she 
would marry him out of the way to one of her friends. 
He bore the name of one of the oldest families in the 
metropolis, had a private income of his own which, 
though not very large, was sufficient to support an 
establishment. This idea, once conceived, jelieved her 
mind for a time ; but its natural result was to throw 
them into each other’s society oftener than before. In 
her inexperience as a chaperone, Violet had not the 
slightest idea how to break her plan to young Belwar, 
or how he would receive it. She realized, however, 
that it was necessary to have a house of her own 
wherein to hold her levees a^d to conduct this social 


ON A MARGIN 


195 


brokerage business which she, half unconsciously, had 
undertaken. 

So, at the end of Violet’s first year of wifehood, she, 
found herself established on Fifth avenue in a mansion 
of her own, never realizing the large part that Belwar’s 
interests played in the move, and how small thought 
her husband’s dislike to ostentation and so-called 
“society” had weighed against the wish to serve her 
protege. 

Then she gave evening receptions and afternoon teas, 
and returned calls in her own coupe with the utmost 
exactitude. 

Walter had secretly hoped that another and very 
different care would have occupied her attention, but 
the wish was unsatisfied. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

ON “ THE BARB ARY COAST.” 

The financial condition of the Cyclops Railway Sys- 
tem entered on a gradual decline soon after Walter 
Rawson assumed an active part in the directory. The 
clever idea of wrecking a great property in order that 
its destroyers might gain control, and enrich them- 
selves from its revenue, was new. Walter Rawson in- 
vented it. 

Therefore the same financial barometer that regis- 
tered a steady rise in the Dawn and Sunset shares 
marked a decline in those of the Cyclops. The deficit 
in the treasury of the latter company finally became so 
large that the Board of Directors, to avoid their re- 
sponsibilities, consented willingly to join Rawson, their 
youngest colleague, in a petition to the courts, asking 
for the appointment of a board of managers. This 
board was to consist of four trustees, with the presi- 
dent, treasurer, and secretary as ex-officio members, 
and was to be vested with full powers to execute all 
contracts, even to the purchase of a ton of railroad 
iron. The only accounting which the board had to 
render to the stockholders was by an annual report, 
jjddressed jointly to them and to the Auditor of State. 

m , 


OW A MARGIW. 


197 


Of course, the plain English of this matter was the 
creation of a committee of receivers for the Cyclops 
System, though all its members were taken from its 
own directory. But however well this purpose was 
understood by the few persons in the plot, and by the 
judges who connived with them, the secret was care- 
fully glossed over by the frequent use of the words 
“board of managers,” “managing directors,” and 
“ executive board. ” 

Within four hours of the acceptance of the plan by 
the stockholders of the Cyclops System, Judge Carling- 
ton, of New York, made the desired order, and fixed 
the following day for the hearing of the argument. It 
is unnecessary to say that the hearing was a mere 
form — one of Walter Kawson’s paid counsel appearing 
as the attorney for some unheard-of stockholder, to 
oppose the issuance of the decree. The order was 
made permanent, and the managers were appointed at 
a special meeting of the Cyclops directors that very 
night. 

The new Board o£ Managers, as at first constituted, 
was not a remarkable body in any respect. With the 
exception of President Barnwell, who retained his post 
at the head of the new board, and Walter Rawson, the 
names of the managers were quite, unfamiliar to the 
ears of the stockholders. 

Among the list was Ixbars, a shrewd young Bos- 
tonian, whose acquaintance Rawson had made since 
landing on the Barbary Coast. Ixbars, despite the 
oddity of his name, was commonplace in appearance. 


198 


ON A MARGIN 


He stood hardly more than five feet high, was quite 
corpulent, and somewhat effeminate in his manner and 
speech. A slight impediment in his voice, an almost 
imperceptible , lisp, was the source of much mortifica- 
tion to him, and afforded his friends the motive for con- 
stant jokes at his expense. They would insist, for 
instance, in his presence, that he had been born in jail,- 
and called “ Sixbars ” by the turnkey, in the absence 
of any legitimate name, but that the inability of the 
child to pronounce his own name resulted in the short- 
ening of the first syllable. This was the foulest 
slander, because old Aaron Ixbars and his wife, Sarah, 
still lived in a quiet village among the Berkshire hills, 
and were respected by their neighbors for their many 
\ irtues. 

Ixbars was gifted with that supreme self-assurance 
vulgarly denominated “cheek.” He differed from the 
type we already know, Mr. Catesberry, in that there 
was no apparent impudence in his manner. He was, 
however, just the person Rawson had been seeking 
ever since he adventured upon that stormy coast 
against which the waves of AVall Street beat. Unlike 
Rawson, Ixbars never had possessed any social stand- 
ing by birth ; but, like his master, he had imbibed an 
utter contempt for the opinion of the world. He did 
not read novels, but had he been addicted to that diver- 
sion, he would have fully agreed with the author of 
“ Madeleine ” : 

“ If you wish to cast consternation and despair into 
the human hive where you were horn, or grew up, 


OiV" A MARGm. 199 

achieve by uprightness (tg«e/iaw«e) success, honor, and 
fortune.” 

) 

As a matter of simple justice to Ixbars, it should be 
said that he had reached considerable distinction in 
trade, gained by the strictest integrity. At the age of 
thirty-five he had attained to a partnership in one of 
the most prominent “ dry goods ” houses in Boston. 
Fifteen years of fidelity and toil had made him rich ; he 
studied human nature as well as cottons and linens. 
These years, however, had convinced him of the truth 
of the idea embodied in the paragraph which imme- 
diately follows the one quoted above : 

“ But if you wish, on the contrary, to diffuse among . 
your neighbors a“ sweet emotion of joy, go astray, so 
that your virtuous fellow-citizens may be able to shed 
tears over your ruin. When they weep over us, they 
are longing to smile I”* 

He had discovered that those who console us under 
such circumstances congraulate themselves because we 
are no better than they. 

Intent as Ixbars was on popularity, he had grown 
contemptuous of the good opinion of the few “highly 
respectable people,” who, he knew, spoke of him with 
aversion in their families, but treated him with cring- 
ing courtesy on the floor of the Exchange and at his 
club. He became the popular idol of the New York 
multitude, and was the one man among a million for 
Kawson’s purpose. 


* “ Madeleine,” par Jules Sandeau.’ 


^00 


ON A MARGIN 


Aside from these two men, it must have been evi- 
dent to the simplest understanding that the rest of the 
Board of Managers of the Cyclops were mere lay 
figures of good character belonging to the class that 
Ixbars delighted to “snub.” Kawson’s purpose in 
choosing his coadjutors afterward became clear, when 
it was seen how the anomalous complexion of the board 
befogged the public, including the most severe critics 
of the Cyclops scheme. The fact provoked curiosity, 
fostered indecision among Rawson’s opponents, 'and 
gave him time to perfect the details of the campaign 
which he foresaw. First there was a wave of negative 
approbation, and for a time the new board commanded 
some respect. 

The price of the stock recovered the place it had held 
on the list before the collapse, and the few violent 
opponents of “the more simplified method of manag- 
ing the system ” only exhausted themselves as well as 
the patience of the public in talk. The resignation of ^ 
Mr. Barnwell at the end of three months, and the suc- 
cession of Walter Rawson to the presidency, occasioned 
only passing comment. The duties of superintendent 
and treasurer were soon after united in the person oi 
Mr. Ixbars. 

A magnificent marble structure on Broadway was 
purchased, and the company’s offices moved thereto. 
Such elegance of appointments had never been seen as 
were to be found there. Desk§ of solid ebony stood on 
Persian rugs. The messengers were attired in livery, 
resplendent with gold lace. Some of the best examples 


Oli A MAR OIK 


201 


of Fortuny, Gerome, and Meissonier hung on the 
walls. The small private office of the president con- 
tained a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of pictures ! 
All of this was the evolution of Professor Morton’s 
theory regarding the mental work-room. 

The new Board of Managers next increased the 
Cyclops’ stock from $25,000,000 to $58,000,000, the in- 
flated scrip being issued in large blocks to brokers, in 
the interest of the president and treasurer. These cer- 
tificates were freely marketed tor the benefit of the man- 
agement, but still stood on the company’s transfer books 
in the brokers’ names. Under one excuse or another, 
these books were made inaccessible to the rightful 
owners of the shares. When certificates of stock were 
left to be transferred, they were placed in the hands of 
the managers of the road, and the holder was rarely 
furnished with a receipt. After days of anxiet}^ the 
purchasers were generally glad to get the original cer- 
, tificates back again, and to leave forever the atmosphere 
of those beautiful offices. 

This course culminated in the seizure of 60,000 shares 
which Hawkshaw & Panama, the representatives of a 
large body of English stockholders, attempted to trans- 
fer. A storm of indignation was the result, but the 
case went into the courts, where the adroit lawyer of 
the management kept it for six months. This act, 
however, had the moral effect desired by the cabal, be- 
cause it frightened all other stockholders from attempt- 
ing further transfers. Confidence in the Board of 
Management was soon utterly gone — the very condition 


202 


ON A MARGIN 


of public sentiment, paradoxical though it seem, de- 
sired by Eawson and Ixbars. 

Another important factor which Kawson had feared 
was an exposure of his schemes by the pure and incor- 
ruptible press of the metropolis. The Cyclone, which 
had now passed wholly under the control of John Bur- 
naby — his old friend Jack — was launching columns of 
denunciation at the corrupt political horde that ruled 
Kew York. Kawson knew that Burnaby’s friendship 
would never go far enough to sanction the scheme in 
which he was then engaged, and that the moment the 
editor learned the truth he would expose and de- 
nounce him. Kawson was particularly anxious, be- 
cause he had found it necessary to athliate in some 
degree with these politicians, to secure such legislation 
as he needed regarding terminal facilities for his rail- 
way. Personally, he had never shared to the extent of 
a shilling in any of their rascalities, but their interests 
were his. Avarice makes strange companions. 

Walter Kawson received a cablegram from Paris 
about this time, informing him that Mootla would sail 
for New York from Havre on the following day and 
asking him to meet her. 

Ten days later, when the Periere was announced, he 
drove to the wharf. There he was surprised to see 
Jack Burnaby, who greeted him frankly, though for- 
mally. He, too, had evidently come to see somebody 
on the ship. Kawson lost sight of him in the crowd 
that surged toward the gangway as the great steamer 
slowly swung round the pier’s head into her dock. 


ON A MAR O IN. 


203 


■ ) 

"Walter was closely on the watch for Mootla’s face 
among the cabin passengers on the hurricane deck. 
When the ship was nearly in he saw a lady waving her 
handkerchief to him. She was Mootla, radiant in a 
closely fitting Paris-made traveling dress. She showed 
delight and pleasure in every feature of her face. But 
who was that by her side ? Jack — Jack Burnaby ! In 
a way so characteristic of him, Jack had swung him- 
self on board with a rope left hanging near the 
gangway opening by the boarding-officers at quaran- 
tine. 

Walter walked up the gang-plank as soon as it was 
out, and went on the upper deck. Mootla’s greeting 
was very affectionate. She asked kindly about the 
wife he 'had chosen since their separation. Then she 
anxiously begged intelligence from her guardian, Mr. 
Mather, whose illness had brought her home and had 
necessitated her call upon two such good friends as 
Walter and Mr. Burnaby. Walter had not even heard 
of Mr. Mather’s sickness. 

“You know, Walter, yours is such a harem-scarem 
life that I feared you might be away when the cable 
message arrived, and I thought wisest to ask Mr. Bur- 
naby to come down to the ship also.” 

Mr. Burnaby was bowing to another passenger, and 
affected not to have heard what was said. 

‘ “ I will attend to your baggage, Mootla,” volunteered 

Walter. “ So you can- get right into my carriage and 
drive to the house.” 

“ Impossible, my dear fellow,” answered Mootla. 


* 204 ON A jfAI^GIN 

“However much I shall regret not to see Violet, my 
first duty is to go straight to “ The Willows,” and that 
I’ll do by the earliest train.” 

She turned and beckoned to her maid, who stood 
near by. 

“ Nanine, give the gentleman the keys to my 
twenty-eight trunks.” 

“lhave them here, mademoiselle,” answered the 
woman, producing a bunch of brass and steel keys that 
would have convicted any man on whose person they 
were found of being a professional burglar. 

“Ho matter about the keys,” said Walter, in a low 
voice. “ Lend me the small bag the maid carries, and 
I will attend to the examination of the baggage.” 

He took the bag, discreetly placed a $100 note on the 
top of the gloves, keys, and trinkets it contained, and 
sallied off the ship to the wharf. When Mootla’s 
trunks were all landed and placed in a row together, 
Walter selected a bright young inspector. He handed 
him the black bag, saying : 

“You will find the keys on top in the bag. These 
are the trunks,” pointing them out. 

They were “ examined ” in ten minutes, loaded into 
a truck, and on their way to Hew Haven and Boston 
a quarter of an hour later. Mootla went by the first 
train. 


CHAPTEK XX. 

TAKING A GliKAT LOSS. 

Who can explain all the motives to human action ? 
Perhaps a writer of fiction ; but for him, even, it is a 
(litficult task. 

Yiolet Eawson thought herself exceedingly happy. 
She was excessively petted by society. She was sur- 
rounded by a bevy of young women, mostly wives, who 
flattered her with an unusual amount of attention ; she 
was not insensible to this homage, hut accepted it as 
due to her husband’s wealth and her own beauty. 
Walter did not fail to observe the compliments and the 
adulation showered upon Yiolet, and he was in a mixed 
condition of pleasure and anxiety about what he saw. 
For several weeks he groped about in the dark for an 
explanation, but finally he got a clew. 

Mrs. Walter Eawson had failed utterly as a chaper- 
one. She had discovered marriageable girls enough ; 
but when the brilliant scheme on which she had set her 
heart was unfolded to Oliver Belwar he respectfully 
declined to wed. Then he redoubled his attentions to 
her. 

As she had begun by sneering at him, she ended by 
confessing to herself complete admiration. The secret 

of her acquaintance with Belwar no longer gave her 

" 205 


206 


ON A MARGIN. 

mind the slightest- uneasiness. Other married women 
of “ her set ’’‘accepted attentions quite as marked from 
young men of good families without exciting comment. 
Prior to this time, she had congratulated herself that 
nothing had occurred to compromise her ; hut now she 
felt superior to the opinion of the world. What society 
chose to think was a matter of indifference, so long as 
she believed in herself. As a married woman in society 
she possessed several friends among her own sex who 
never by any possibility could have been accessible to 
her as a young girl. It was not very long under their 
tutelage until she thought a suspicious reputation 
rather desirable than otherwise — always provided, of 
course, that it was false. 

Justice must be done to Belwar. He had contem- 
plated no grave crime in thrusting himself into Violet’s 
society. Though he hadn’t any morals to speak of, he 
did not at the time belong to that species of man who 
goes about in search of conquests at the price of dis- 
honor. The less mystery there is about his purpose the 
better, as it will leave us all the more time in which to 
observe the disastrous effects of his wooing upon this 
vain woman, who, entrenched in a love whose posses- 
sion she had enjoyed from childhood, utterly failed in 
proper appreciation of its priceless value. The gossip 
of her friends had taught her to disbelieve in the virtue 
of man. From the very instant that Belwar declined 
her proffered aid in effecting a desirable marriage and 
begged to be considered only as her slave, Violet flat- 
tered herself that this young man was passionately 


ON A MARGIN. 


207 


enamored with her, and was bent on her fall. It 
became a matter of secret pride to her, chiefly because 
she was so confident of her own strength. Then, 
too, it was gratifying to know that he had virtually 
refused any one of half a dozen fortunes, which he 
might have had as a wife’s dowry, to throw himself at 
her feet without the slightest hope of any reward. 

His was a bold, audacious preference for her, but 
that caused no aversion. She had long since observed 
that he always mentioned her husband with repect — 
indeed the first occasion in which he had spoken other- 
wise would have opened Violet’s eyes to her danger. 
Did not Belwar often ask, “What does Mr. Kawson 
think ” of this enterprise or of that stock ? At first 
she rarely knew what Walter thought about any feature 
of his business ; but as Belwar’s inquiries continued, 
she interested herself more and more in speculation 
that she miglit converse with Walter on the subject. 
She read every day the money article in the Herald.^ and 
invented the cunningest little devices to obtain the in- 
formation which appeared so desirable to know. Some- 
times the form was like this : 

“ One of the abominable papers says that you are a 
‘bear’ on the New Orleans Air Line. Now, what is a 
‘bear she would ask, innocently enough. 

“ The bear — is a philosopher ; he has discovered that 
‘the other fellow’ will get tired holding on,” Walter 
would answer, perhaps, good-humoredl}". 

“ But, be serious. Don’t you see your poor ignorant 
little wife is trying to learn something.” 


208 


ON A MARGIN, 


“Well, a ‘bear’ is a man who believes in the depre- 
ciation of values at times as firmly as others do in their 
advance,” Walter would explain. 

“Then you believe in the depreciation. What does 
that mean — a decline in the market price of the New 
Orleans shares?” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ You want it to go down, and that’s why you’re a 
‘ bear ’ ?” 

“ How quickly you learn:” 

“Well, my love, don’t tell me any more this time — 
my head is all befogged. It’s worse than g’omctry.” 

How interesting it would be to know the methods 
employed by Delilah to wheedle from Samson the secret 
of his strength ! If there had only been a Boswell in 
that family, the world, or at least the men in it, would 
be much wiser than they are. It seems incredible that 
it could have been imparted to her strictly as a confi- 
dence. Samson knew the treachery of the Philistines 
too well, and, even though unsuspicious of her duplicity, 
he was guarded in his replies to any direct questions on 
the subject. 

How similar the case of this modern and unconscious 
disciple of Delilah. Had Violet felt exactly right in her 
heart about Belwar’s attentions she would have said to 
her husband : 

“ Our friend, Mr. Bel war, suggested to ask you 
whether it were better to buy or sell the New Orleans 
Air Line. Tell mo Avhat you advise so I ‘can inform 
him when he calls,” 


ON A MARGIN 


209 


Had she acted thus she liad been a far brighter, 
shrewder woman than she was, because to do justice to 
her heart at the expense of her judgment, she did not 
fathom the designs of Belwar. Great is the trouble she 
would have averted had she only been truthful. A 
plain statement of the facts and a clear understanding 
of the situation would have enabled Walter to recog- 
nize the man’s purpose, and he could have given Belwar 
a ‘‘pointer” that would have converted his ancestral 
mansion into an auction-room ; the intimacy would 
have ended, and she would have been free again. But 
Violet was a woman ; when that is written all is said. 

Belwar was impelled to be doubly discreet — first, in 
order to obtain the information he desired ; and, 
second, to avoid awakening Violet’s suspicions. To 
have wounded her pride by the slightest exposure of 
the fact that his ardent court was not wholly due to 
love of her, would have been fatal to his project. Even 
the suspicion that she was being used by an adven- 
turous lover would have evoked open repulse. Violet 
was, however, unsuspicious, and the fact that she was 
generally able to obtain the desired information without 
open confession, gave to the service a secret and attrac- 
tive zest. 

Oliver Belwar was only a seeker after “points.” 
His methods were such that he attained very satisfac- 
tory results. He secured a half dozen morsels of infor- 
mation in this way during the first six months’ struggle 
over the Consolidated Cyclops that netted him a small 
fortune in the stock market. 


210 


ON A MARGIN 


Just prior to the great break in the C^^clops shares, 
on the Hawkshaw and Panama decision, Yiolet ap- 
proached her husband on the theme of stock specula- 
tion one night. She wanted to know what was to be 
“ done ” in Cyclops, but she was less clever than usual. 
Without suspecting the directness of the question, 
Walter asked : 

“ Why, pet ? Do you inquire for some of your lady 
friends ? • Have you any stock speculators among 
them ?” 

Walter might have seen her face get burning hot, as 
she stammered : 

“Yes ; I more than half suspect it.” 

“ Who asked you, Violet ?” 

“Miss — no, Mrs. Gunwale ” 

Her face now glowed like a coal. It was her first 
deliberate falsehood to Walter, and before a moment 
, had passed, she wished she had died before uttering it. 
She then realized that another chance - to mention 
Bclwar had escaped her — the last opportunity that ever 
presented itself! 

Walter knew Mrs. Gunwale very slightly ; but he 
understood her husband perfectly — a man whom he 
believed to be capable of anything disreputable in the 
way of business. Walter knew him as an ally of 
Dobell’s, upon whose shoulders more than one joint 
responsibility had been loaded, because there were in 
it certain features that would not have stood the cal- 
cium-light of an experience meeting or an investigation 
by an Exchange committee. Walter decided that Mrs, 


ON A MARGIN 


211 


Gunwale’s intimacy with his wife (she was old enough 
to have been Violet’s mother) was for the purpose of 
utilizing information obtained from him through her 
for speculative purposes. 

In the moment that elapsed before he resumed the 
conversation, Walter imagined the situation to be much 
more complicated than it really was. In his mind’s 
eye, he saw Violet surrounded by harpies who were 
employing every species of cajolement, subtle insinua- 
tion and open entreaty to obtain early information as 
to his purposes. 

Walter decided to teach the old speculator. Gunwale, 
a lesson. 

“Well, little one,” resumed Walter slowly, drawing 
his wife confidentially toward him, “ I should like to do 
Mrs. Gunwale a favor, for your sake.” 

“ You are very kind, Walter.” 

“ I fancy the Gunwales haven’t any too much money 
now ?” 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure.” 

“ I expect she wants a new team ; or, perhaps, a 
wedding outfit for that eldest girl of hers ?” 

“ I hadn’t thought of that,” said Violet, rapidly re- 
gaining confidence, only to plunge further into false- 
hood. The sly old minx ; she said she’d call in the 
morning.” 

“ Very well, Kow, Violet, tell her that I’m ad- 
vising all my friends to buy Cyclops ; that it^s cer- 
tain to make a sudden and splendid advance this 
week,” 


212 


ON A MARGIN 


“ I will, indeed. Good night. What a kind-hearted 
fellow you are.” And she went to bed, and pretended 
to sleep. 

Rawson, on the contrary, lay wide awake half the 
night. His eyes had been opened to possibilities that 
never had occurred to him before. The interest that 
Yiolet had appeared to take in his business of late, so 
pleasing and flattering^ at the time, now suggested a 
doubt whether this was the first instance in which Ins 
wife’s friends had quizzed her to their mercenary ad- 
vantage. Never, for an instant did he doubt Violet’s 
fidelity to him. If his worst suspicions were true, 
they afforded new proofs of her innocence and purity. 
Her mind ought not to be made cognizant of this phase 
of the world’s duplicity, he reasoned. No ; but now 
that he was on his guard, he had nothing to fear from 
its results in the future. Indeed, might he not utilize 
the very snares that were laid for her, by supplying 
“ points ” that he knew would prove disastrous ? 

Strange how easily the human heart can justify what 
it does, though it may condemn with celerity the same 
act in others. 

“When the enemy approaches under ground,” 
argued Walter with himself, “the defence — counter- 
mines.” 

That’s what he would do. He would encourage 
Yiolet to disseminate among all who sought it just such 
information as he chose to give her. As long as she 
knew not that she was serving the purpose of a stock- 
jobbing news-monger, her innocent mind would remain 


ON A MARGIN 


213 


uncontaminated — a novel way, so like the man, of 
paying old debts. So imbued was Walter with this 
idea when he awoke in the morning, that he said to his 
wife, as they were dressing for breakfast : 

“If, for any reason, Mrs. Gunwale does not call here 
you had better stop at the house this afternoon on your 
way to the Park. It will be too late if the hint is not 
acted on to-morrow. 

“No doubt she will call,” said Violet, awkwardly. 

“ Suppose I suggest the matter to Gunwale himself ? 
I see him every day.” 

“ Oh ! no. No, Walter, don’t do that. It might"^ 
violate what she intended as a confidence.” 

“But no doubt she’ll ask her husband to buy the 
'stock,” he suggested. 

“ Likely as not ; but she’ll not reveal the source of 
her information. She’s like any other woman.” 

“I don’t mind his knowing that the suggestion comes 
from me.” 

“'Well, let her tell him,” exclaimed Violet. “ I’ll 
siee Mrs. Gunwale surely to-day.” 

Poor Violet ! she was literally at her wit’s end. Why 
uad she named Mrs. Gunwale ? Why had she named 
anybody ? Why, above all, had she falsified ? She 
i^nagnified the gravity of the situation even more than 
Walter had from his point of vieAv. If Mrs. Gunwale 
\perfectly innocent as she was) ever learned that Violet 
accused her of playing the spy for a mercenary benefit, 
Jt was easy to foresee there would bo a social explosion 
'hat might involve all sorts of consecj^uences,” ^ 


214 


ON A- MARGIN 


As a result of the tide of circumstances, Violet not 
only confided the precious secret regarding the coming 
sharp advance in Cyclops to Oliver Bel war, but also 
forced it upon the unsuspicious, though not unwilling, 
Mrs. Gunwale. 

Violet called at her house. She chatted about the 
discomforts of hotel life and the satisfaction she had 
enjoyed since the change to a house of her own. 
There were a thousand things the visitor could have 
said that would have been news to the elder woman, 
because their acquaintance was only of the most formal 
kind. Violet, however, proved her latent woman’s 
tact when she quietly remarked : 

“But what is better than all else is Walter’s good 
health and exuberance of spirits.” 

“I am glad, for your sake, my dear Mrs. Kawson,” 
answered the elder woman, in her naturally efiusive 
way, reflecting as she spoke on the splendor of the 
lace scarf that was thrown back from Violet’s neck 
while in the house. 

“ All his troubles are at an end. Everything is set- 
tled in the Cyclops litigation, and Walter tells me 
confidentially that the advance in the price of that 
stock next week will be so sharp that it will make 
everybody interested in the company rich. He even 
said that one of his friends had mortgaged his house 
to buy still more before it gets scarce.” 

“Indeed! that’s worth knowing,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Gunwale, exhibiting unmistakable interest. 

Violet soon after took her leave, but there was plenty 


ON A MARGIN, 


215 


of time between that hour and ten o’clock next morn- 
ing for old Gunwale to be apprised of the valuable 
secret. 

Having sold Cyclops to an enormous amount, Raw- 
son brought the litigation to a sudden termination by 
allowing a decision against the company. His board 
announced, with great show of regret, the surrender, 
under the order of the court, of the 60,000 shares of 
stock which ‘ ‘ rightfully belonged to the company, be- 
cause obtained by the foreign holders through the 
flagrant and corrupt neglect of the previous directory.” 
They deprecated the severe blow to the finances of the 
corporation, entailed by this most unjust decision — all 
of which caused a sudden drop of twenty-five points in 
the stock. Rawson and Ixbars quietly gathered in 
enough shares to balance those which they had surren- 
dered, seeing that they could not retain them a mo- 
ment if the case' were carried into open court. 

This apparent surrender had one ill effect. Within 
a week President Rawson began to suspect the fidelity 
of some of his allies, and he saw that he must openly 
challenge his opponents. It was easy enough to keep 
control of the company so long as he could vote on the 
watered stock standing on the books in the names of 
friendly brokers, but danger lay in the steadfastness of 
these coadjutors. They must be convinced at once by 
some means that he was the man to tie to. 

All this occurred on a Friday, that dark and por- 
tentous seventh of .every week. The decision of the 
court was rendered at tha very hour Walter had di« 


216 


ON A MARGIN 


rected. The shot struck two enemies. One was known 
to Rawson, the other unknown. The sudden drop of 
twenty-five dollars per share in Cyclops, described in 
a previous chapter, ruined Oliver Belwar. Gunwale 
was hurt to the extent of $100,000 ; three brokers 
were forced to suspend, and a general panic was 
threatened. 

It was quoted to Rawson ’s credit (for a few days 
only) that he came personally to the rescue of the stock, 
and by purchases of 40,000 shares at about the lowest , 
ligures, prevented further decline. 

He little dreamed what vials of wrath he had 
opened for the future. 

By noon the next day poor Yiolet’s face was the pic- 
ture of shame and despair. Mrs. Gunwale rushed to 
her house and visited on her the depths of her indigna- 
tion. She upbraided Violet with shameless ingratitude 
for social favors which she invented as fast as they 
could be named. She called her a hired “stool- 
pigeon,” a “panderer to a stock-gambler,” and mqny 
other nameless epithets that women of veneered refine- 
ment use in the presence of their own sex with sur- 
prising ease and fluency. Worst of all, she vowed 
she’d see Walter Rawson and tell him to his face 
what “a worthless hound” he had shown himself by 
sending his wife, unasked, to tell her such ruinous 
falsehoods. 

Violet foresaw in that threatened meeting between 
her husband and this infuriated woman complete ex- 
posure. Then burst upon her in all its terrible actu- 


On a margin 




^lity a realization of how she had, step by step, com- 
mitted herself to a policy of fraud, and had dragged 
this fellow-sinner’s happiness down amid the ruins of 
her own. And, worst of all, while she miglit have 
survived the injury done to another woman, her own 
situation appalled her. 

Walter was too much engrossed in his great enter- 
prises to give more than a passing thought of satisfac- 
tion to Gunwale’s misfortune (which somehow had 
leaked out in the street) or to observe Violet’s distress. 
It is possible that he detected the paleness of her face ; 
hut heavens ! anxiety had caused his own cheeks to 
wear the shadow of death. 

Kever had he made a more clever stroke nor a 
quicker “turn.*” The hour seemed just the one for an 
even bolder move. All his “ shorts ” had been covered 
and the deliveries quietly made. Why not cause his 
failure to be announced and break the market even 
lower, to buy ? It was a bright idea. For fear that 
Violet might see the rumors in the newspapers, he 
would prepare her mind and reassure her. 

As he was about to go to his office Tuesday morning, 
Walter kissed his trembling wife even more tenderly 
than usual. She followed him to the front door, a 
marked favor on her part. ’Twas the very moment to 
tell her what he wanted to say in such a form that it 
would have the desired effect if repeated. Therefore 
he exclaimed : 

“ Good-bye, little wife. I shall probably be a beggar 
before night.” 


ON A margin. 


SIS 

“ A what I” she gasped. 

“A pauper, my dear. This great smash in Cyclops 
has ruined me.” 

She stood before him, speechless. He was frightened 
at her appearance, and sought to reassure her, in part, 
at least, by saying : 

“ What matters it, Violet. I still have you.” 

With languid tenderness she lingered at the foot 
of the stairs, and yielded her lips when he embraced 
her once again. 

Walter Kawson left the liouse, and entered his coupe 
in perfect happiness, thinking in his heart, now so 
blinded by selfishness and avarice : 

“ Since life is joy — is love —why can’t we live for- 
ever ?” • 

He returned that evening to find Violet gone, with 
all her wardrobe and valuables. 

What had happened ? This : 

A half hour after Walter’s departure, Oliver Belwar 
had driven furiously up to the door. He had asked for 
Mrs. Kawson, had informed her that Mrs. Gunwale 
knew all ; and was, at that very moment on her way to 
Walter’s office, to expose to him the faithless character 
of his wife. He ended by falling at her feet, swearing 
eternal fidelity, and beseeching her to fly with him to 
Europe, on the steamer that sailed at daylight. Con- 
firming, as did this story, all her worst fears, Violet 
accepted the inevitable fate of a silly woman driven to 
desperation — and fell. 


ON A MA R GIN 


m 


She acted impulsively and foolishly. She summoned 
her maid, announced that her father was dying at a 
hotel in Boston, and that she had been called there at 
once. Throwing into two trunks her jewels, and such 
articles of wearing apparel as were accessible, she had 
them carried to the street, and placed uppn the coach. 
Then she was driven away, no one knew whither. 

Thus ended Walter’s dream of happiness. 

His married life was only an episode in his career. 


CHAPTEK XXi. 

' A BLIND POOL. 

Terrible as was the fact, difficult as it was to real- 
ize, Violet was gone. She had left no word or trace 
behind further than a brief note, saying : 

“ Farewell, Walter. Don’t seek me — you will be too 
late to save me. I ’m not going to take my life — at 
least not now. Why I am throwing away my happi- 
ness I do not know any more than you.” 

Walter Kawson indulged in no hysterical manifesta- 
tions of grief. He was almost physically prostrated by 
the shock, but he conquered his mental emotion in a 
few hours. When that conflict had terminated in his 
favor he recognized the import of Violet’s conduct. 
Fate had challenged him at last. Else why should 
his wife have deserted him ? Hot a reason existed. 

How the conflict ! 

As soon as night fell he put on his hat and started 
out on one of the long and flitiguing walks he had been 
accustomed to take during his early struggles with 
Fate — when she appeared in the form of Fortune. 

He walked far and rapidly. Without the slightest 
definite idea as to whither he was bound, Walter was 
recalled to himself by the chime of Trinity Church. 

Ah I how far the sound of those bells is heard ! Sure 
220 


9 ^ 


ON A MARGIN 


221 


enough, he had traversed Broadway, and from sheer 
force of habit had turned down Wall Street into Broad. 
Then he looked around him. Who were these figures 
moving about from door to door in the moonlight ? 
Had the* Dutch burgomasters returned to the New 
Amsterdam of to-day — for surely it was they who sat 
on the stoops of the tall dark buildings and smoked 
their pipes so contentedly. 

He had never seen Broad .street by night. Where 
were all the callous, active men like himself? Another 
race was in possession — a population the very existence 
of which he had never suspected. The families of the 
janitors, descended to the door-steps, or, in some in- 
stances, to the front windows of the lower offices, were 
receiving and paying calls, and exchanging gossip with . 
their neighbors. Young children were gathered in 
groups listening to stories from older ones. Further 
on a bevy of girls sauntered along, pouring their day’s 
batch of secrets into 'each other’s ears. And there 
were lovers, too — courtship, marriage, perdition. Ah ! 
but Death came there, likewise. Now that he remem- 
bered it, Kawson had passed a priest on the stairs one 
afternoon. But funerals could only occur on Sunday, 
or after business hours. The priest I Yes, he had 
certainly seen him ; but, filled as was his brain with 
business, he had been heartless enough to suppose that 
the good man was slipping in to “take a flyer” in 
stocks. Could it be that these same halls and stair- 
ways, known to him only when filled with the bustling 
urowd, echoed at night to the tread of coffin-bearers 


S22 


ON A MAH GIN 


and the sobs of the bereaved ? No street in America 
so full of life in daylight ; none so lone and dismal after 
dark. 

Here he was before the door of his own office. A 
voice saluted him respectfully : 

“Why, Mr. Eawson, can this be you 

“Yes, William,” answered Walter, recognizing the 
face of his own janitor. 

“ Will you walk up-stairs, sir ? It is quite an occa- 
sion with us.” 

“ What, pray ?” 

“ A wedding, sir. My daughter is about to be mar- 
ried. We ’re only waiting for the parson.” 

“ I thank you, William ; but I do not feel well. 
Please excuse me,” said the broker, shuddering. 

“ It would be a great honor to us, and would make 
our Pose very happy. And George, too, her husband 
that is to be ; don’t you remember George ?” 

“ George Cole ?” ' ' 

“ The very same.” 

“ I wish him every happiness ; but I can’t stop. I 
want to send a present to the bride.” And Rawson 
drew a roll of bills from his pocket which he thrust 
into the old janitor’s reluctant fingers. Then he 
hastened away homeward. 

“Rose — another flower,” he muttered, recalling 
Violet’s name, as he stumbled aimlessly along. 
“Ah! but mine was a weed.” 

He stopped long enough at the general post-office to 
scribble the following note on a leaf of his memoran- 


ON A MARf^‘^ ■ 223 

. .. -«■'' ■ 

dum-book, which he inclosed in an envelope and 
mailed to Cotton Mather. 


“Violet has left me. I know not where she’s gone. 
Fate has challenged me. With your aid I can go on — 
I can face it. If the offer made on the day of my 
father’s burial holds good, I accept it, and thank you. 
“ Sincerely, 

“ Walter.” 


At this hour of conflicting pride and dishonor, in 
which he chewed his heart as a cud, one name alone 
rose in his mitid ; he saw only one face that supplanted 
even in the slightest degree hers that was lost. She 
alone was left to him — his sister, Mootla. Recognition 
came to him in all its fullness of the 'grief which slie 
had endured — aye, - had mastered. The weird sym- 
posiums they had held at “ The Willows ” and on the 
rocks at Hantasket ! Was she not a student of Fate, 
a believer in Destiny, a reader of the stars ? To her, 
then, his heart turned as to an all-potent amulet. For 
her he longed as the only companion for a misery like 
his. Whence this fascination of Mootla ? Was she 
really beautiful ? Who knows ? The secret of beauty 
is as hidden as the mystery of sin. 

A writer, making a study for his heroine, watches 
her as affected by happiness or despair ; he penetrates 
to her heart and studies her thoughts. She is never 
from his sight, and, if he would be truthful and accur- 
ate, he must paint her as she is. To alter the evidence 
or suppress traits that are prejudicial to her popularity 
js an act of bad faith. 


224 


'ON A MARGIN 


The general opinion regarding Mootla was that she 
was a highly intellectual woman, of attractive manners 
— a woman who discountenanced social intimacy he- 
cause it entailed a waste of time. Bereft of maternal 
care, she was womanly just to the amount that her 
nurse and governess had been able to dominate her 
mind. And that was very little. She had become 
her own mistress at so early an age that she had hardly 
felt the tender anxieties and girlish pride of maiden- 
hood. She treated all humanity alike. Even all crea- 
tion. Tlie only tender spot in her nature was for 
mankind in distress. Irresolute and capricious as her 
nature made her appear to others, she certainly pos- 
sessed the rare ability to discount and enter to future 
account every acquaintance of an hour’s duration. 
Associated with each friendship was some possible 
subsequent situation in which he or she would serve. 
Therefore, she never forsook an acquaintance, once 
formed, and never regarded as lost one that abandoned 
her. Walter’s carelessness in making enemies she 
regarded as the vulnerable point in his character — and 
she was right. 

Though Mootla had outgrown the nervous distemper 
of her youth, she was at times physically weak to the 
verge of complete collapse. And yet, in more respects 
than one, she was an example of purpose as clearly 
defined, as logically pursued, and as firmly adhered to 
as though she had all the resources of the world’s 
power at her command. When she decided upon any- 
thing, she already foresaw her design executed and its 


ON A margin: 


225 


effect. This trait she possessed in even greater degree 
tlmn Walter. Indeed, it was their only characteristic 
in common, this faculty of arriving at a conclusion, not 
by an exercise of reasoning, hut by the rash, rare gift 
of presumptuous intuition. Seeing the completed work 
or act, the intermediary details and the generative 
cause arranged themselves in her imagination for in- 
spection — acceptance or rejection. Thus she, unwit- 
tingly and after a fashion of her own not yet laid down 
in books, reasoned from future effect back to the about- 
to-be cause. 

The strange, unaccountable conduct of Violet brings 
the figure of Mootla into the foreground again, for the 
receipt of Walter’s letter at “ The Willows ” marked 
an epoch in the life of the indwellers there. 

After some hesitation. Cotton Mather summoned 
Mootla to his room, and, with moistened eyes, took 
Walter’s letter from his pocket and handed it to her. ' 
She read it carefully, and apparently without shock. 
After a moment’s silence, she said : 

“ Tliere can be no doubt as to my duty. This man 
is my brother. I shall go to him.” 

Thus it happened that Walter returned to his home 
late one afternoon about this time to find, amid the 
gloomy half-light of his library, Mootla, seated on a 
low hassock by the side of the grate, with her hands 
firmly clenched over her knees. She was looking in- 
tently into the glowing embers, studying a picture she 
saw there. 

When Walter’s footfall was heard, she started to her 


'226 ON A MARGIN. 

feet, extended both hands, and the well-remembered • 
voice said cheerily : 

“ I have come.” 

“You are welcome, Mootla.” 

They stood silently looking into each other’s eyes for 
an instant. 

“If I dared ,” she half whispered. Irresolution, 

for once, overcame her. But she was soon mistress of 
herself, and, in an impulsive fashion that was entirely 
characteristic of her, she pulled Walter’s face down to 
hers and kissed him. 

It was the act of an angel. Never was greeting 
more tender or womanly. 

“ My brother,” she murmured. 

“ You know who you are ?” he exclaimed. 

“ I do ; else why should I be here ?” 

“True.” 

“ Ah ! Walter, what have yon done ?” said Mootla, 
in a changed tone, giving a startling turn to the con- 
versation. 

“ I ?” 

“ You have driven poor Yiolet out into the wide 
world — sinning and scorned.” 

“Why, girl. You don’t know the facts,” replied 
Walter, almost brusquely. 

“Yes; I have read the history of Violet’s married 
life here” — looking about her — “in every piece of 
furniture, in every hanging curtain, in every article 
she has touched. Even in the coals have I seen her 
struggles against a misery from which one word in 


ON A MARGIN 


227 


time, spoken by you, would have saved her. No, no ; 
your life has been all wrong.” 

“Are you deranged, Mootla ?” asked Walter, almost 
frightened by the imprecations thus calmly heaped 
upon his head. 

“I am only sad, heart-broken, that a love like hers 
and yours should have ruined itself.” 

“You never knew Violet.” 

“ True ; but I have learned here, to-day, that the 
air she has breathed was far too rarified for the susten- 
ance of a pure and luxurious love.” 

“You are cruel, Mootla.” 

“ But you deserve all I say to you.” 

“ Why add to my misery ?” 

“ Because when you .fathom its full depth you will 
be more valiant to master it.” 

“But how can I save her now, even granting what 
you say?” he said slowly, overcoming a choking sen- 
sation in his throat. 

“ Too late. She is lost.” 

“ But she may have repented ere this.” 

“ To pardon her is to be despised of mankind.” 

“ The reproaches of society have no terrors for 
me.” 

“Every act of yours will be further humiliation to 
Violet, and she suffers enough now, I ’ll be bound.” 

“ She must never want, Mootla. Violet has been 
too precious to me. I will not abandon her.” 

Mootla looked at him. Her eyes beamed with ten- 
derness, but her voice was harsh. 


228 


ON A MARGIN 


“You don’t owe the world anything — at least, not 
enough for that sacrifice,” she said. 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t? Haven’t you comprehended that 
your social position is gone ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you must trample on the neck of society, or 
it will mock you, and pretend a sympathy that is secret 
exultation. No, you have made too many enemies to 
be magnanimous.” 

A moment before, looking at life selfishly, it had 
seemed to Walter that society owed him everything — 
even sympathy and forgetfulness. Now he saw how 
hollow and baseless was his claim. He buried his face 
in his hands and muttered : 

“ The taint of avarice* has poisoned my happiness.” 

Mootla withdrew to another part of the room, and 
left him alone wfith his thoughts. Walter rapidly 
evolved in his mind a plan by which Yiolet should be 
secured against privation in the bitter days of her fu- 
ture. He hoped to save her from the final consequences 
of her rash and hasty act, to shield her from those 
ever-present spectres hovering over every forsaken and 
homeless woman — the public hospital and the dissect- 
ing table. He wanted her to stop where she was, not 
to sink into the slums. He fully understood that he 
alone stood between her and utter earthly degrada- 
tion. That the Vreeland family would renounce her 
he knew already ; that Belwar would soon abandon 
her to the downward path was not less certain. Poo^ 


OM A MARGIN. 


229 


Violet, what was to become of her ? These reveries 
were checked by the street bell. 

“I forgot to say that our uncle came with me,” ex- 
plained Mootla. “ He sent me up in a cab, as he 
had business to finish down town. Perhaps this is 
he.” 

Walter stepped into the hall as the butler sprung the 
oak. 

Cotton Mather’s face was wreathed in smiles. He 
was two " hundred weight of good nature. Shaking 
Walter’s hand warmly, he said : 

“I’m here, my boy ; at your service to the end.” 

“ I welcome you to my heart.” 

The grand old man threw off his coat and hung up 
his hat with all the earnestness of a person who had 
never done anything else. He then asked for a glass 
of brandy and water, walked into the dining-room, 
waited until the decanter was placed before him, 
helped himself sparingly, and then carefully seated 
himself in an easj^ chair. 

A general conversation about “ The Willows,” the 
condition of Boston trade, and the health of Mootla’s 
pets filled the time until dinner was announced. 

The table was circular. Violet’s place was abolished 
already. 

After the coffee was served, the two men adjourned 
to the smoking-room, up-stairs, to consider the situa- 
tion. 

Curiously enough, the first act after the door was 
closed was to shake hands again. Then Cotton Mather, 


230 


ON A MARGIN. 


to make the situation easier for his companion, led off 
the conference thus : 

“We can be of infinite use, one to the other.” 

“I fully recognize the fact,” answered Walter, 
heartily. “Let me tell you what I have set out to 
do,” and the young man then ran briefly over the 
plans by which he hoped in twenty years to accumulate 
half a billion of money, the source from which it was 
to be drawn, who were to be impoverished and who 
benefited. He sketched out the rise of the Political 
Estate, and calmly described its methods of money- 
getting. 

It was a strange and intensely fascinating revela- 
tion to Cotton Mather, supplementing, as it did, many 
of his own conclusions, reached from a widely different 
starting point. 

He was greatly agitated as he sprang to his feet and 
exclaimed : 

“ Laurel Hill I I have arranged to settle an account 
of my own with the professional politicians. You take 
the nabobs, the retired army contractors, the railroad 
sharks, but promise me one thing — — ” 

“Certainly; anything.” 

“ Leave the professional politician to me. He’s my 
mutton. Just listen to what I have already arranged 
to do.” 

. And the enthusiastic old man unfolded the vision 
from Egypt, introducing “the cat of Pharoah,” with 
much unconscious dramatic effect. 

“ The scheme’s a good one, so far as the gratifica- 








OiV" A MAMom 231 

tion of your just hatred goes ; but I see one serious ob- 
jection.” 

“What is it?” demanded Cotton Mather, almost 
abruptly standing still, with a hand raised for another 
gesture, in his wild harangue. 

“It won’t pay. It’s a losing game,” said Walter, 
with provoking calmness. 

“ Fudge ! What do I care ?” 

“But can’t we hatch a scheme that will both destroy 
»he game and secure the hide ?” 

“ I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“I think we. can.” 

“ * There’s no objection to that amendment, provided 
I get what I want,’ to borrow their own language,” re- 
jioined Cotton Mather, chuckling over his memories of 
Washington cloak-room confidences. Kawson con- 
tinued : 

“All my plans have been laid with the definite pur- 
pose of ‘ scalping ’ somebody. It is the easiest and 
squarest method of dealing between man and man. 
All trade is a swindle. Commerce consists in selling 
things for more than you pay for them, and to people 
who don’t specially need them. Whether the pur- 
chaser wants the goods or not, he or the next buyer 
takes the loss. The man who sells potatoes to my cook 
knows that I have to take the loss of their consump- 
tion. Trade is a swindle ; I repeat it. The secret of 
success in it is to find a customer, or many of them.” 

“ Why, I never looked at it just that way,” muttered 
the merchant. 


23^ ON A MARGIN. 

• 

“Only because you haven’t given the subject ade- 
quate consideration. You are too sensitive about 
other people’s feelings. Does the world care anything 
for your misfortunes ? • Kot a particle. Let us ‘ go for ’ 
them all, bald-headed.” 

“ But to be effective we must join interests.” 

“Wrong again. To crush all obstacles, we must be 
our own rivals.” 

“I don’t understand,” stammered the old man, see- 
ing that he had roused the younger, and that Walter 
had plunged into water in which he could hardly fol- 
low him. 

“ We must be open enemies to the world,” continued 
Walter, speaking rapidly. “We’ll unite our capital, 
our hatreds, and our hearts ; but we must not even 
bow to each other in public ; we must keep apart.” 

“That’s a great sacrifice, my dear boy, for I love you 
fondly.” 

“ Say the word, then, and I surrender all the scheme. 
If we go into any blind pool it must be on those 
terms.” 

Walter walked about the room. In his present mood 
he was a splendid specimen of directing genius. His 
mind already grasped every detail of a financial com- 
bination that could shake the commercial world. He 
molded the more than ordinary mind of his companion 
as though it had been wax. Already the older man 
saw that he had roused a spirit he could not control. 
Walter assumed leadership as naturally as a bird soars 
skyward- He was imperious only in language ; in 


ON A MARGIN 


manner he was courteous and respectful. The old 
merchant was in a brown study. He had found his 
nephew only to lose him. He had himself suggested 
the very means of separating them. What should he 
do ? Walter settled the quandary for him. 

“You have already realized on most of your prop- 
erty ?” 

“ Yes ; I have five millions in twenty banks ready 
for the work. I have as much more in lands and 
bonds.” 

“A ten million pool, then. So be it. I’ ’ll come in. 
Five a-piece. Is it a go ?” 

“ It is.” • 

“Then we^ have one common object in life — the 
Rawson family against the world.” 

The two men fell into each other’s arms, and stood 
for fully a minute patting each other on the back. 




CHAPTEE XXII. 

IN A TIGHT PLACE. 

As if Walter Eawson had not seen trouble enough 
already, the financial and political skies suddenly be- 
came black as ink. Every member of the Cyclops 
cabal, except its leader, was in dismay. 

“ The Barnwell Board ” of Directors, as this commit- 
tee was called, jvere no sooner seated than the English 
stockholders of the Dawn and Sunset united to defeat 
the order of sale to Eawson. They were clamorous 
for the restoration of the' road to its original owners. 
While openly opposing this agitation, Walter Eawson 
secretly encouraged it. His agents circulated the most 
scandalous rumors against the board of his own crea- 
tion. He finally induced Sir Matthew Halifax to 
begin legal proceedings in the British interests. 

The greatest firm of railroad lawyers in the world 
were retained by Sir Matthew. Dunbar & Jones 
grasped the situation and crushed the upstart manage- 
ment. Within six weeks, owing to a liberal use of the 
Atlantic cable, the lease by the Cyclops Company of 
the Dawn and Sunset line was pronounced illegal and 
void. Eawson was out of the leased line’s stock — 
“short” of it many thousand shares — though a few 

hundred stood on the books in his name. Here was 
234 


Oiv A MAROm. 


2^5 


another see-saw. Cyclops “ relieved of an odious bur- 
den,” began to climb toward higher prices. The Dawn 
and Sunset was adjudged bankrupt, and on application 
of Sir Matthew Halifax, the court appointed Judge 
Goshock sole receiver. 

This man, whose name was afterward indissoluby 
linked with the history of this country as the fourth 
member of a political quadrilateral which has given its 
name to all succeeding conspiracies of the kind, was at 
that hour comparatively unknown. From the first let- 
ters of these men’s names was coined a new word, now 
a part of all shady commercial dealings — Rawson, 
Ixbars, Kogood, Goshock — R-I-N-G. 

Politically, this cabal goes down in history as “The 
Nogood Ring ” when the man whose name it takes was 
the least brilliant or shrewd of the four. 

“ Judge ” Goshock never had studied any law. He 
had obtained a diploma through political influence, and 
was a Bachelor of Laws, according to the parchment. 
A nominating convention and the fidelity of the inspec- 
tors of election had made him a police justice. It is 
due to the accuracy of history to say that he filled 
the office satisfactorily. His findings were never over- 
ruled, because he remembered so well the only code of 
procedure he had ever studied and “when in doubt” 
regarding the guilt or innocence of a prisoner,” he 
“ took the trick,” as it were, by discharging the man. 

“ Judge ” Goshock employed the “ rebates ” of the 
office to speculate in stocks under the advice of Walter 
Rawson. The latter had recognized the man’s value, 


236 


OK A MAUOTN. 

under many possible and probable circumstances, and 
Goshock had been encouraged with a glimpse of the 
border lands of wealth. 

Properly advised as he was, it will be readily under- 
stood that “Judge” Goshock lost very little time in 
effecting a re-lease of the Dawn and Sunset Kailway 
and all its properties to the great Cyclops Company. 
The terms were much more favorable than those for- 
merly obtained, and appeared on their face very satis- 
factory to the leased company. 

This, Walter Kawson hoped, would crush the move- 
ment against him in England, but he was mistaken. 
The British stockholders of the Dawn and Sunset were 
in earnest. They met at Cannon ’Street Station, Lon- 
don, organized, subscribed fifty thousand pounds for 
expenses, and appointed a committee for the campaign. 
So it was that this agitation, started by Walter Kawson 
as a speculative job, crystalized into the most danger- 
ous realism he ever had to face. 

Casting about for strong parties who would join in- 
terests with them, the British committee found that the' 
stockholders of the Alaska and Patagonia Kail way were 
smarting under a grievance similar to theirs. This 
latter road — though it carried the names of the farther- 
most confines of the Western hemisphere — was less than 
two hundred miles long. It traversed a rich mineral 
region vvhich had been expected to supply fabulous ton- 
nage to the Cyclops system ; but by clever management 
quite like that accorded to the trunk line, this valuable 
feeder had been brought under complete 'subjection by 


ON A MARGIN 


237 


Rawson and Ixbars. Its honest but inefficient directors 
had been gradually but persistently supplanted by crea- 
tures of the Cyclops ring. From a regular dividend- 
paying road the Alaska and Patagonia had become one 
of the most unsalable stocks on the Exchange — owing 
to the popular distrust of its management. 

It was clearly the purpose of the Cyclops cabal to 
have the road declared insolvent by one of its hired 
judges, and placed in the hands of one of the ring’s 
professional receivers. What made this evident was 
the sudden retirement of the Honorable John Sandown, 
of Albany, from the directory of the company and the 
prompt election of Nogood to fill the vacancy. This 
act evoked such a storm of condemnatinn from the 
public and the newspapers that the step was regretted 
by Rawson and Ixbars. Nogood could not be expected 
to withdraw ; he was made of tough material and 
liked a fight. 

Here providence (with a small letter) came to the aid 
of Walter Rawson, who was in a serious state of per- 
plexity. 

By an unexpected coincidence, on the identical night 
on which the moon looked reddest. Nogood was for- 
mally arrested on a charge of robbing the people of New 
York. The arrest was trifling enough in itself— for the 
accused furnished ten times the amount of bail asked — 
but it was memorable, for it offered occasion for Nogood 
to give the world his famous epigram : 

What arc ye goin’ to do ’bout it ?” 

The benefit of Nogood’s arrest was that it diverted 


238 


ON A MAUaiAf. 


\ 


public attention for the moment from the Cyclops con- 
spirators. 

Nogood said to his coadjutors, political and social : 

“ Don’t worry. We elected the Governor of this state 
only a few weeks ago. There’s no reason why any of 
us should go to jail. I — guess not.” 

A merciful Providence (this time with a capital let- 
ter) kept from their knowledge that the members of 
the Assembly into whose pockets so many thousands 
of the city’s dollars had been diverted, and the gover- 
nor, whom this cabal had counted in, were already in 
the pay of the enemy. Had this been known, however, 
men of the pabal would have snapped their fingers and 
said : 

“We own the judiciary, and can buy all the juries in 
Christendom.” 

Walter Eawson feared a union of all his enemies. 
While they were divided, he could crush them in turn ; 
but, united, the opposition wmuld, indeed, be formida- 
ble. He was pre-eminently the man for the hour. By 
a sweep of his pen, he announced the resignation of 
Nogood a-nd Goshock from the Cyclops directory, and 
that President Panama, of the Alaska and Patagonia 
corporation and another prominent official of that road 
would at once accept the vacant positions. To compel 
Panama’s obedience, Rawson began suits against him, 
as the president of the Alaska and Patagonia road, for 
monies alleged to be due under the lease to the Cyclops 
system. President Panama squirmed and temporized, 
to gain time ; but Rawson, having a shadow of a case 


ON A MARGIN. 


239 


against this road, had the date of trial rapidly ad- 
vanced by the judges in his pay and was confident of 
complete success. 

Panama’s hesitation was due to a knowledge of the 
growing strength of the British combination, headed 
by General Worden, a bold, dashing and unscrupulous 
member of the Political Estate, snugly ensconced in 
Europe, who had been hired to conduct the engage- 
ment against the Cyclops management. Worden had 
succeeded in organizing an attack that included every 
stockholder that was opposed to the Rawson regime. 
The Cyclops, and Dawn and Sunset rebels had all 
united and the assistance of the Alaska and Patagonia 
opponents of the cabal was greatly desired. 

Panama, therefore, had no difficulty in making his 
own terms with Worden’s personal representative on 
this side of the ocean ; he was assured that the real 
owners of the Cyclops system would, in return for 
his fidelity, wipe off all scores against his company, 
and would fix a satisfactory freight rate. Within a few 
hours President Panama rallied about him a majority 
of his board, and by his personal influence, without 
acquainting them with the pledges he had received, 
induced their solemn pledges of fidelity. 

There were now three distinct elements in the anti- 
Rawson combination, but all were thoroughly joined in 
interest. General Worden’s appearance in New York 
was felt to be enough to unite them all under his lead- 
ership. 

Rawson’s final extinction seemed close at hand. The 


) 

240 , ON A MARGIN 

entire strength of the Political Estate (saving the few 
members whom he had involved in his own net) were 
arrayed against him. How to beat them was the prob- 
lem. Borrowing one of their own favorite expressions, 
so often uttered during the “ storm and stress ” period 
in which the Estate rose, he said to himself : 

“I’ 11 ‘ copper ’ their game. I’ll play to lose.” 

Eesolute and courageous as he was, the loss of Violet 
haunted his mind constantly. He opened an account 
in her name at an up-town bank. He forgave and 
pitied her. 

It was never satisfactorily explained why Violet 
Eawson took the terrible step of leaving her husband 
for a man she really did not love. The probability 
is that two influences suddenly and unexpectedly com- 
ing into conjunction induced the act. Hers, certainly, 
was not a deliberate flight ; but, rather, a surrender 
to an impulse. It was an emotional crime, like that 
one in the carpenter’s shop. By nature and training 
Violet was intensely vain and selfish. With the mis- 
leading avowal from her husband that he had lost his 
wealth, Violet beheld herself cast out of the social 
circle in which was all of life that appeared to her 
worth enjoying. To be dropped from the visiting lists 
on which her name stood, and, worse still, to take 
“ the cut direct ” from old acquaintances, on the street 
and in the Park, seemed to her the lowest degradation. 
She shrunk from such a future in terror, and, believing 
wdigit Bel war told about Mrs. Gunwale’s determination, 
she took the wild, irrevocable step. 


ON A MARGIN. 


241 


Mootla’s explanation was the only philosophical one. 

“ Violet acted wholly on impulse,” said she to Cot- 
ton Mather. “I am sure of that. It was a case of 
panic in which her conscience was stampeded by the 
sudden terror of detection in falsehood and duplicity. 
It was the simultaneous fact — a coincidence of several 
crises, always dangerous.” 

Oliver Belwar did not make any secret of his motives 
in destroying Eawson’s social happiness. He boasted, 
one night at the Full Moon Club, at a champagne sup 
per, that he had revenged himself on every man who 
had wronged him. 


CHAPTER XXm. 

THOUSANDS FOR AN INCH OF TIME. 

The gathering storm was evident to all eyes. But 
the defense was thoroughly organized, and Rawsoii felt 
himself equal to all his foes. 

Though credited with impulsiveness, Walter never 
acted without deliberation. One secret of his marvel- 
lous success was the careful study of prospective results 
from certain or possible causes. A curious trait of this 
remarkable man’s character may be mentioned here. 
In his leisure moments his mind employed and inter- 
ested itself by establishing a defense or an alibi, for use 
in every conceivable emergency. Eor example, as he 
explained one night to Cotton Mather : 

“My mind asks the question, ‘ Suppose the Cyclops 
building caught fire some night when I was its only 
occupant. What would be my defence if indicted for 
arson ?’ Or, ‘ Suppose I were to be arrested for an 
assault committed last evening at nine o’clock in the 
Fiftli Avenue Hotel, could I prove that I was at the 
Juniper Club ?’ ” 

This idiosyncrasy which Rawson fully recognized but 
did not struggle against, begot in him what passed for 
wonderful foresight. The mental interrogatories were 

merely varied to : “If I bring about a disagreement 
243 


ON A MARGIN. 


243 


with various co-operating roads, so that the Cyclops 
cannot do a through AVestern business, will not its 
stock be a good ‘ short ’ sale ?” “ Granted that I am 

regarded as a bad manager or a rascal, will not the 
Cyclops stock greatly advance in price when I leave 
it ?” And out of this theorizing grew the novel but 
successful policy of life which his great wealth enabled 
him to follow — with success. 

In the midst of this impending trouble, AValter Raw- 
son was one day summoned to Crumpet by the danger- 
ous illness of his mother. AVilder Joy, his private 
secretary, declared that his absence during such a crisis 
would be very indiscreet ; but the call to his mother’s 
bedside could not be disregarded. AV^alter decided to 
go at once. 

He left the Cyclops building after dark and reached 
his old home by a niglit train. He found his mother 
unconscious. She had had a stroke of f»aralysis. 

For two days he sat constantly by her side,’ and did 
everything in the power of a son to minister to the sick 
woman’s wants. 

Then it was he fully realized the ineffable delights of 
a life free from care, apart from the crowd — the peace, 
the purity of a region where fraud and malice enter 
not. 

Such thoughts as these were passing through his 
mind as lie sat in the dusk of evening by his mother’s 
couch. She was sleeping calmly, and fear of immediate 
danger was past. A quick footstep was heard on the 
gravel walk leading to the stile that gave access to a 


244 


ON A 3/ARGIN. 


shorter road to the boat-landing and railroad station 
than that through the main gateway. Evidently the 
visitor was not a stranger. Rawson rose hastily and 
Stepped noiselessly into the hall. There he confronted 
his secretary, who, out of breath with running, asked 
abruptly : ' 

“ Why do you not return ?” 

“ Return ?” asked Rawson curiously. 

“Yes. I have telegraphed you every hour since 
nine o’clock, and in every conceivable way — by the 
cipher and by half a dozen other methods.” 

“ What’s the matter ?” 

“ The assault will be made on the Cyclops building 
at midnight. The differences you’ve kept open have 
all been settled. The opposition is a unit.” 

“ Who is your authority ?” 

“ Judge Latchall ” • 

“Who acts for the* British contingent ?” 

“ Tlie same.” 

“ Very well ” (drawing his watch). “ Eight o’clock. 
We shall receive them.” 

“No train till ten.” 

“We must go earlier,” muttered Walter to himself, 
as he stepped back into the hall and seized his over- 
coat and hat. Then he sprang lightly up-stairs, kissed 
the ashen-hued face of his mother, and slipped out of 
the room. 

A man is never wholly bad who loves his mother. 

A small engine-house stood just below the railroad 
station, in which a passenger loconiotive or two wero 


ON A MARGIN 


245 


generally laid up for repairs. Toward this building 
Walter rapidly hastened, followed by his bewildered 
secretary. 

At the turn-table, in front of the house, stood Bow- 
cher, now a superannuated engineer. Walter knew 
him at sight. He clutched him by the arm. The 
startled man shook himself loose ; but Eawson ex- 
plained who he was in a few words, and declared that 
his fortune depended ou going to New York at once. 
He then asked : “ Have you an engine there ?” point- 
ing toward the round-house. 

“ The Corneel Nepos.” 

“ Is she fast ?” 

“She can do the distance in two hours,” and the old 
engineer drew himself up to his full height. 

“ Get her out at once. I’ll have orders from the 
/president by the time steam ’s up. Five hundred dol- 
/,ars for you if I ’m in New York before eleven !” 

The old man was young again ! He entered the 
/ound-house at a bound, engaged a fireman from among 
¥he oilers and wipers about the place. Fortunately, the 
Nepos had been out on the road during the day and the 
vvater in her boiler was still warm. With his own hands 
vhe old engineer tossed in the pitched kindlings, applied 
a match, and soon had a roaring fire. Then he de- 
kscended from the cab, lamp in hand, and carefully 
looked over the entire engine, tightening a nut here or 
loosening another there. The moment the gauge 
showed steam enough, the Nepos was run opt of the 
\ouse, 

I 

\ 


246 


ON A MARGIN 


Meanwhile Walter stepped into the telegraph office. 
Knowing that there was no time to communicate with 
the president of the road he issued an order to keep the 
track clear, and signed it with his own all-potent name. 
All station agents down the line had notice that a 
“ special ” train followed the Pacific express as far 
as Mallory’s landing, where it would overtake and 
pass it. 

An empty baggage car stood on a siding, and the 
. engineer having quickly made fast to it, pulled out on 
the main track to Kew York. Wilder Joy, Rawson’s 
private secretary, seated himself on a bench in the car, 
lighted by a lantern swinging from its roof. 

The train moved off. At a word from Bowcher the 
fireman took a bit of copper wire out of the tool-box 
and fastened down the safety-valve. Then he began to 
cram the fire-box. 

At the front door of the car stood Walter Rawson, 
watching every movement in the cab. 

The Nepos must warm to her work. There was a 
jerk as the train rounded the first curve and passed the 
main street of the village leading down to the pier. 
Then, with his teeth set, the engineer threw the lever 
forward, opened all the draughts, closed the cylinder 
cocks, and pulled the throttle clear out. Away into 
the night theKepos rushed, having a straight and level 
stretch of road for five miles ahead. 

“Coal! Chock ’er I” was the engineer’s constant 
command to his , stoker. 

The old Nepos slowly made steana, 


ON A MARGIN. 


247 





Bowcher watched the clock carefully. The engine 
was not thoroughly alive yet ; slie jumped and pounded 
the rails too much. 

Around a sharp curve, swaying frightfully, the Nepos 
rushed. Emerging into the open, a red light appeared 
in front on the left. It was impossible to stop. Let 
an engine-driver describe his feelihgs at such a moment. 
He had only time to shut down and reverse before the 
Nepos rushed past a small house close to the track, at 
whose lighted window was a red curtain — the terrible 
signal of danger. Bowcher didn’t smile away his 
fright. He threw the lever clear forward and opened 
the throttle wide. 

He sounded the whistle as they plunged into the 
mouth of a tunnel. The infernal glare against the 
dank walls from the roaring furnace’s mouth, the crash 
of the wheels and swaying of the monster of steel 
and fire — like swinging on the hinges to the gate of 
hell ! 

Out into the starlight again, and a level stretch 
ahead. The track crossed a lagoon, at the end of which 
stood a village with many lights. Far away, these 
glowing spots spun slowly round, as in a circle, always 
moving outward according to the rules of perspective ; 
nearer at hand, a lesser circle carried the yellow lights 
upon its rim slowly inward toward the train. 

Below the town the rails came to an end, or seemed 
to. Here was the sharpest curve on the road, but it 
was passed in safety and a deep rock cut charged. How 
j^utrid the yellowish-green stone walls I Another mile- 


248 


ON A MAR O IN. 


post, and just beyond, the unholy fumes of a great fron 
furnace with pillars of flame topping its tall cupolas ; 
then into a stretch of straight track, which roused the 
Nepos to a frenzy of glee. A shriek of the whistle as 
the engine plunged past a large station. The rows of 
lamps were alone discernable. Poughkeepsie ! — 
seventy-five miles to New York. 

The Nepos was now doing a mile a minute. Swing- 
ing heavily, she sprang across a causeway — the river, 
dark and sullen, on the right, and a stagnant pond 
on the shoreward side. The Nepos was beating her 
record. The inside door of the furnace was white 
hot. 

In a deep cut, whence the rails led, a dark object 
was descried across the track. A man ! Bowcher 
shuddered. Another human life. Some drivers turn 
gray when made executioners. He shut ofl‘ steam. 
Too late. A flash . of the head-light ! Not a man, 
only a fragment of the rocky ledge from the height 
above. Bowcher knew its composition, though not a 
geologist. God had doubly spared him. The stone 
was rotten, as a shower of pieces that shattered all the 
glass in the cab attested. These, the Break Neck 
Hills, below which, as a whirlwind, an express passed 
northward on the up-track. 

“ Shake your grate bars,” ordered Bowcher, cool 
and grim. 

Onward, as the Hudson water runs. The head-light 
was burning low, but the driver sprang out upon the 
narrow footpath and turned it higher. He was back 


OiV A 249 

in half a minute. Danger ahead now at every curve, 
for the night express was not far in front. 

Meanwhile the locomotive clove St. Anthony’s Nose, 
and soon left the Highlands behind. The next curve 
revealed the train they pursued. There it stood to the 
right, on a siding. Hast, O glowing Nepos ! Only a 
’ confused glimmer of lighted car windows, a stratum of 
warmed air, and darkness swallowed the flying “spe- 
cial ” again. Just opposite the grim Franciscan con- 
vent, a mile below, the Chicago express, on the up- 
track, hailed the wanderer with a shriek, and passed, 
like a hurricane. Ten miles of clear road now, at 
least. Unwilling to endanger his stoker’s life, Bow- 
cher went forward and oiled the piston-rods. 

In the stretch below Croton, water was taken from 
the track-trough. The spray drenched the resolute 
man at the car door, but not a feature of his face 
quivered. 

Across a stretch of bay, the engineer saw the lamps 
at Sing-Sing, and the white light of an engine standing 
on the down track. He called to Bawson, who sprang 
over the tender and joined him. Bowcher exclaimed, 
pointing ahead : 

“ Something ’s wrong with the express. There ’s a 
relief waiting its arrival.” 

“ How ’ll we get by ?” asked the passenger, compre* 
bending the situation clearly. 

“We must take that engine, and leave ours.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Have you the nerve 


S50 


0^ A MARGlJSr. 


“ Try me.” 

Tlie Nepos was stopped within a few feet of the 
waiting locomotive. 

“ Follow me,” said Bowcher, as he sprang out of his 
own cab, and into that of the engine ahead. 

The driver was sitting. on his hunk eating supper. 
Bowcher almost hustled him off. ‘ 

“ Take the Nepos, coal her, and bring down the 
express. This gentleman goes through ahead of all 
trains.” 

He nodded toward Walter Bawson, who had already 
ensconced himself in the seat on the stoker’s side. 
Bowcher seized the lever, and the Baron Steuben 
moved off without her rightful driver. 

Hot until fairly under way did Bawson remember 
that his secretary. Wilder Joy, had been left asleep in 
the baggage car behind the Hepos. 

Unacquainted with the Baron Steuben, Bowcher 
made a series of hasty but exhaustive experiments. 
He tried all the gauges ; then the damper. Steam 
only 105 ! 

“ Heat her,” he shouted, as the engine emerged from 
the tunnel under Sing Sing prison, and upon the grace- 
ful curve that sweeps shoreward past the country house 
of a President of this nation. Next the village of Tar- 
rytown. It was only ten o’clock, but a high rate of 
speed was no longer possible, because of numerous 
local trains on this section, with whose movements as 
“ extra man ” fropi up the road he was unacquainted. 

Working safely down to Spuyten Duyvel, thence 




ON A MARGIN 251 

across the bridge to Manhattan Island, and along the 
dark shadow of Fort Washington, spurts of speed were 
made only where the track was visible some distance 
ahead. Finally, the avenue, with its lighted taverns 
and shops was reached. Thence across toward the 
Thirtieth Street station, among a wilderness of lights, 
the Baron Steuben moved. 

At Tenth Avenue, Walter sprang from the cab of the 
yet moving engine, and, running to the front of the 
station, secured a coupe. Five minutes later, he was 
set down at the door of a house adjacent to the Cyclops 
building, on a side street. Entering with a latch-ke}^ 
he reached the president’s room by a route known only 
to himself and Ixbars. 

Awaiting him he found his faithful lieutenant, avIio 
had taken every precaution in his power to prepare for 
the expected assault. Bawson saw, in walking about 
the building, that he had not returned a moment too 
soon. Treason was already plotting within the barred 
doors. In the twinkling of an eye his presence inspired 
fidelity. He was distrustful of the motle}’^ crowd of 
men that Ixbars had gathered from the train-gangs and 
workshops of the Cyclops road. In most cases this 
was their first visit to the city, and they were bent on a 
debauch. Ixbars informed Rawson that they were all 
armed, and it required only a glance to detect that they 
were nearly all drunk. A dangerous element, surely ; 
perilous to friend and foe. But Ixbars understood 
them, or thought he did. Was he not the child of the 
people ? Bawson was not reassured, though these 


25 ^ 


ON A MARGIN. 

specimeDS of the public cheered to the echo when 
Ixbars waved his hand and said : 

“ Behold my gallant three hundred !” * 

Not since the intrusion of tlie mob into the palace of 
Versailles has such a spectacle been witnessed. Sleep- 
ing on the cloth-covered tables and desks, sprawling on 
the ebony chairs, lounging on the satin upholstered 
sofas, were the men of the multitude — the poletariat. 
Their clothes reeked with the grease of the round- 
houses and the soot of' the forges, and the air from 
their lungs was tainted with the odors of. rum and 
bad tobacco. They passed that memorable night in a 
carouse. 

An attempt was made, as had been predicted, to 
force the doors ; but the entrances to the building were 
found barricaded and defended by a gang of despera- 
does. That the dangers of an assault upon the fortress 
might be fully understood, a few rounds of blank cart- 
ridge were fired from the upper windows over the 
heads of the throng in the street. The storming party 
had threatened to carry the place at the pistol’s muzzle, 
if need be, but it was not prepared to. find the defence 
ready for a deadly encounter. 

A proposition for a truce and for a parley on the fol- 
lowing afternoon was received from the besiegers about 
daylight, llawson welcomed it as relieving the sus- 
pense of the hour. He retired to his private office to 
snatch a few minutes of sleep. 

At the sight of his secretary’s desk he recalled 
Wilder Joy’s abandonment of the railroad. He re» 


ON A MAH GIN. 


253 


<^rettcd it, because a less faithful man might not forgive 
such treatment. Joy’s fidelity, however, he did not 
doubt — a confidence he was doomed to see rewarded 
after the manner of the world. Joy did not reappear at 
his post. He went over to the enemy — secrets and soul. 
He sold the valuable information he possessed to 
Worden at a high price. 

But the truce of a day strung out into weeks. 

Pending the resumption of hostilities, a marriage 
ceremony occurred at “The Willows.” Mootla be- 
came Mrs. John Burnabj^ It did not surprise Walter 
Rawson, though he had not been entrusted with the 
secret by Mootla until a week before the event. He 
was not present, but sent a gift worth a small fortune. 

Tlie ceremony was performed by the most cons])icu- 
ous parson of New England — a bright, ambitious young 
bachelor. He addressed, every Sunday, a congregation 
of one tliousand pretty women who worshiped in a 
charming Gothic bird-cage that cost a million of money 
to rear. 

After the wedding dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Burnaby 
drove into Boston and to the wharf at which lay their 
beautiful steam yacht, the- Calypso. Everything was 
ready for the voyage, and the moment Burnaby touched 
the deck he gave the command to “cast off.” The 
Calypso put to sea at once on a wedding journey that 
included several ports in the West Indies and a brief 
stay at Nassau, in the Bahamas. 

Thus happily began the married life of Jack and 

Mootla, 


• ' > V'v* *'* ’ 


CHAPTEK XXIY. 

IN THE GULF STREAM. 

Canaveral light stood twelve miles off the star- 
board beam. The Calypso was steaming steadily 
southward against a quartering sea. 

It was the period between sunset and dark, which in 
the northern latitudes is called twilight, but in the v 
neighborhood of the tropics has no name, because of 
its briefness. 

Under a bright-colored awning, at the bow of the 
trim little steamer, sat a man and wife. 

The Gulf Stream, that mysterious “river in the 
ocean,” had been in sight all day to the eastward, car- 
rying on its rippling borders sprigs of grass from the 
Caribbean Sea, and, at frequent intervals, bearing 
northward a tiny nautilus, with its bulging sail of rain- 
bow hues. 

The gray sand dunes of the Florida coast had long 
since sunk into the night, but above the shadowy 
waste, as a caution, and yet a greeting, was the resplen- 
dant beacon — a glowing, sun-likC' star, though fed by 
the hand of man. 

What sociability there is in a light ; what confidences 
it invokes ! 

We, as readers and writer, have contemplated the 
254 


ON A MARGIN, 


255 


green apples of love ; have seen them fall in the first 
.storm. Now lot us study, if we dare, the ripe fruit — 
that which has survived, and will run its earthly course 
. in safety. 

The man and wife had been talking and thinking, as 
they sat together on a sofa that had been brought on 
deck from the cabin. 

“ The secret of happiness certainly is contentment,” 
said she. 

“ And are you contented ?” he asked. 

“ My happiness is complete,” she affirmed. ‘‘The 
wifely state is so different from what my imagination 
had painted it. The faith in mankind with whicli it in- 
spires me evokes my own admiration. Dear Jack, I’m 
^so indescribably happy,” and she cast herself upon his 
bosom, and wound her soft, sinuous arms about the 
great fellow’s neck. 

Burnaby did not make the slightest effort to disen- 
gage himself. The delight he experienced was a reve- 
lation to him. The twain were silent a moment ; then 
she said, looking into his eyes as tenderly as though 
the deepening shadows had not almost hidden them : 

“We have been married a week.” 

“ True, Mootla. It does not seem so long.” 

“But is the fifty-second th part of one year,” she 
said, slowly, even meditatively. 

“ Right again, my girl.” 

“We have solved the sweet mystery of marriage, 
and must, sooner or later, reach the practical problem 
of dwelling together ‘as long as w^ both shall live,’ ” 


256 


ON A MARGIN. 


Slie repeated the words exactly in the tone of the min- 
ister who had married them, and with a deep, sepui-. 
chral eflect that would have been ludicrous had it not 
been so apt a bit of mimicry. “ ‘As long as we both- 
shall live.’ ” Then she added, cheerily : '•‘How’s it to 
be accomplished ?” 

“ Really, I hadn’t thought of any difficulties in the 
way.” 

“Nor had I, until this moment,” she continued. 

“ But, as I sat here gazing at that beacon-light, I re- 
cognized its value — the wisdom and forethought that 
caused it to be put there. I wondered why the matri- 
monial sea has no coast-lights, when the majority oi 
people who adventure on it are wrecked. Can’t v'^e 
avoid the shoal water, my dear husband ? Instead oi. 
drifting, cannot we steam along on a safe course, like 
that laid for the gallant boat beneath us ? Let our 
compass be a mutual understanding ” 

“ A treaty ?” 

“ Yes, if you don’t got your metaphors mixed. One 
that will carry us through life. A sort of Monroe 
Doctrine, perhaps, not to dignify it with the name of 
treaty.” 

“ Exactly ! What a great idea !” 

“ But practical ?” she interrogated. 

“ Thoroughly so,” he admitted. 

“There must be a philosophy of marriage,” she re- 
sumed. “ If there be such a science as political econ- 
omy ” 

“Which I doubt,” 


OiV A MABGIJV. 


257 


“ So do I. But I say if there be such a science, the 
first chapter of every treatise on the subject ought to 
begin with a marriage ceremony.” 

“ It would certainly be an innovation,” he answered, 
incredulously. 

“Marriage is the foundation of our alleged civiliza- 
tion,” she continued. “Jack, we couldn’t be here 
without it ?” 

That specious query — a woman’s argument, which is 
most effective when it is no argument at all — com- 
pletely captured Burnaby. And yet it was merely a 
sophism, put by a bright woman. The key to it is that 
their happiness might have been just as great some- 
where else. 

“You would, if possible, formulate a policy for the 
married ?” he asked. 

“ Xo, dear Jack, I have no ambition beyond our 
future. I would wish to ensure for ourselves con- 
tented lives ?” 

“ Very good, my dear girl. -We have started right. 
We have been happy.” 

“Yes, supremely so. Too happy. That’s the 
danger I descry.” 

“ You fear it will not endure ?” 

“ Don’t mistake me, dear John,” — she always called 
him John when she was in a serious mood. “ I am 
more distrustful of myself than of you. I seek to pro- 
long the perfect contentment, the mutual pride, the 
abiding confidence we now enjoy. 

“ You seek 


258 


ON A MARGIN 


“ Peace !” 

“O, you sublime creature.” And Burnaby folded 
her in his arms, and kissed her rapturously a dozen 
times. 

He admired the majesty of her intellect, capable of 
simultaneously enjoying the bliss of the honeymoon 
and looking far enough into the future to see that a 
day must come when passion would cool, and romance 
become reality. Kot a trace of selfishness in this in- 
tuitive foresight. What a treasure had he captured ! 
What a noble specimen of womanhood sat by his side ? 

“ You are silent, dear John,” she murmured. “ Do 
you dislike to hear me talk so seriously. It was in 
the fullness of joy I spoke. Then, too, the dark waters 
all about us are to blame for it ; the stars that now 
do shine ; yonder light that warns us, though it 
twinkles ‘ Bon voyage ’ ; the very air that fans my 
glowing cheeks is vitalized by the warmth of a fairy 
river, along whose watery banks we travel. Think of 
the time, the place, my own dear man.” 

“Both time and place are opportune, my little 
wife,” spoke Burnaby. “I have not failed to note 
the wrecks floating on the sea of matrimony ; how few 
families survive the first gale, or, weathering it, toss 
out a water-logged existence without hope of haven. 
Signals of distress, unrecognized by the law, unheeded, 
even mocked by society, are to be found on every 
parallel of social longitude. Matrimony is in need of 
a weather bureau. You have suggested one. The 
idea is great. It ’s yours. It’sMootla.” 


OW A MARGIN. 


259 


She— “ And feasible ?” 

He — “Y es,” 

Burnaby meditated for a time. Then he asked, im- 
pulsively : 

“Wherein is the happiness of married life?” 

Mootla did not reply for a full minute. Then her 
cheeks burned and her face became radiant. 

“Shall I answer?” she asked, as she nestled closely 
under the protecting shelter of his arm. 

“Certainly, my own darling. We are one. Wherein, 
think you, shall we find this happiness we seek ?” 

“ In our children,” she almost whispered, as she hid 
her face, suffused with blushes, on his breast. 

Burnaby’s manly heart gave a great throb. He 
raised Mootla’s face, with its eyes tightly closed, and 
kissed her on each cheek as an emperor might have 
greeted a princess royal. He could not speak. The 
majesty of the moment overcame him. 

. Here was a new responsibility, already confronting 
him. Like every other young man who has married, 
he found himself confronted with the greatest of all 
social problems — the rearing of a family. But, was 
not Mootla right ? he mused. Of course she was. She 
was divine. 

On the air floated a message which Burnaby’s ear 
alone could comprehend. It re-echoed in his heart, 
passed out again upon the breeze, only to return with 
the mental picture of desolate Cotton Mather, seated 
alone in his great drawing-room, thinking of his pet 
child and her changed condition. Burnaby held his 


260 


ON A MARGIN. 


wife closer and closer, without fear of bruising her, as 
he proudly thought, but dared not confide even to the 
tattling w'liid, lest it might render an old man’s heart 
more sad : 

“ Aly little Mootla now ; God bless her.” 

Burnaby wondered, then, why lie had never contem- 
plated founding a home — that source of the ethical cur- 
rent. He had imagined himself a student of social 
science, its laws, its impulses, its mutations and pro- 
gress ; but here was a young woman at his side who 
showed him, in three words, how ignorant be wasT He 
recalled the conhdence, the unconscious bravado, with 
which he had grappled serious problems involving the 
political future of Europe and America when he was a 
child in his knowledge regarding the family — the source 
of our alleged civilization. And he had taken upon 
himself the grave responsibility of perpetuating this 
very institution of which he was so ignorant — the 
hxmily. He became almost frightened as the thouglvt 
grew upon him. 

Mootla did not interrupt his reflections. She could 
not possibly have imagined what was passing in her 
husband’s mind. She was still looking far ahead along 
the Gulf Stream’s course. She saw, in mental vision, 
the warm equatorial ocean where it attained its primary 
impulse, but she remembered that after its procession 
was run it dashed upon the frigid coasts of Labrador 
and Scotland ; it met the icebergs and wasted all its 
heat in melting them ; it carried the tropical fauna 
upon its tide until destruction overtook them amid 


ON A MARGIN 


261 


the frozen seas. It was delusive — like all else in this 
world. She remembered- the gayly-colored nautilus. 
Where was the point at which the nautilus forsook the 
^varm tide ? Where was tlie first chill ? Ah, that was 
the sublime question. That point avoided, man and 
woman might readily achieve perfect happiness. 

Another thought took possession of her. Was the 
old adage true : Did intimacy really induce contempt ? 
Was entire confidience possible ? Must the woman 
never strive to find out facts about her husband which 
she really did not want to know ? Must she keep her 
eyes closed far enough not to sec the faults in her com- 
panion ? Or, seeing the blemishes, were they to be 
discussed, and mutually recognized and admitted ? 
Perhaps only oddities, peculiarities, existed. When 
recognized, who was to decide them faults ? If ad- 
mitted, which partner to the bond was to be allowed 
the larger number? The man? Yes. Naturally a 
woman would think so, she was impartial enough to 
admit. But Avas she right ? No ; had not she, Mootla, 
more eccentricities than any man who ever lived ? In- 
deed she had, was her mature decision. Even her 
name was a vagary, a wild freak in which a gentle, 
generous world had humored her. Being so, how could 
her husband, the one being most precious to her among 
the world’s billion, endure her after he found her out? 
After he had studied her critically — as no doubt he 
would I Ah ! what was the part of wisdom ? This : 
To establish a peace while the most amicable relatious 
lasted. 


262 


ON A MAE GIN 


There was nothing to tell Burnaby about her life 
further than he already knew. Cotton Mather, at 
Mootla’s command, had given the suitor for his ward’s 
hand her entire history, even to many minute details 
not set down in this true history. Hereafter Burnaby 
could only learn what he discovered for himself. But, 
would not a day come — an unfortunate day — in which 
Burnaby, her own Jack Burnaby, would study her 
critically ? Would he not look at her as a social prob- 
lem similar to the labor question, the equities of aliens, 
or the State’s duties to its orphans — all of which he 
discussed and analyzed so clearly ? Would he not give 
her, his wife, the same close consideration and study, 
and reach a definite conclusion of some kind ? She 
believed he would. But much as she knew, Mootla 
did not know man. In that respect she was borrowing 
trouble. 

This couple belonged to the new generation, not the 
old. They had plunged into matrimony after the tra- 
ditionally impetuous fashion, but they had risen to the 
surface sooner, and were already sensibly looking about 
for a beacon by which to lay their course in life. 




CHAPTER XXV. 

FALL OF A PILLAR. 

During the two months’ truce between Walter Raw- 
son and his antagonists several momentous events 
occurred — events that in themselves would have con- 
quered any but a resolute man. 

Ixbars was dead. 

He had not yielded up his life to the defence of the 
Great Cyclops Company, as might have been expected 
from his heroism on the night of the assault, but had 
been shot down miserably by a rival lover of one of his 
several lady friends. 

The cause of the quarrel would have been ridiculous 
had it not terminated so gravely, for Ixbars was killed 
on account of a pair of gum galoches. ^ 

He had always taken great care of his health ; he 
atoned for every act of dissipation by the most rigid 
attention to his doctor’s advice. Among other things, 
the physician had cautioned him against a disposition 
to goutiness which lurked in his system, and had ad- 
vised him to wear rubber shoes whenever the weather 
was damp. 

Ixbars, who generally had an original way of doing 
everything, at once purchased a box of gum shoes, and 

had a pair left at each of the households which he more 

203 


m OK A MARGTK. 

or less maintained for his use in the event of sudden 
showers or snow. When the particular pair of gum 
shoes that was sent to the cosey dwelling of Miss Mamie 
Dindwiddie reached their destination the lady was en- 
tertaining a gentleman in the parlor. The package, 
neatly tied up as it had been ordered to be, was by 
some mistake brought directly to her, and when she in 
her surprise opened it a small perfumed note fell out 
upon the floor. Before she could interfere her com- 
panion took it up, and read : 

“Measelum Little GuRL—Pleez put these gums 
behint your door or where they will be safe. I may 
want them. Ever your lumpsom, 

■ “IXET.’’ 

Tlie conduct of the young lady’s visitor was, to say 
the least, characteristic of prompt action, however 
much wanting in propriety. He gently took the pack- 
age from her hands, stepped to the front door, and 
threw the shoes into the middle of the street. 

A few evenings after this, as Ixbars was entering a 
hotel he was shot down by this man who had insulted 
his gum shoes. 

Amid great commotion, the wounded man was car- 
ried to a room and his friends summoned. Rawson, 
ever prompt to act in great emergencies, was almost 
the first person at the bedside of the dying man. Ho- 
good and Goshock were both sent for, but only Nogood 
responded. 

Poor Ixbars was in great agony of mind and body — 
realizing that he had lost his life and his sweetheart. 


On a margin. 


^65 


That was a wild night in New York. Tlie streets 
were filled with people who tramped about in the 
snow and the slush, and asked each other in bated 
breath : “ What does it mean ?” “ Has the Tombs 

been mobbed yet ?” “Will the assassin be lynched 
“Is it the end of the Cyclops ring?” Broadway im- 
perfectly cleared of snow by the political friends of the 
Cyclops people, was a canal bordered by banks of ice, 
streaked with the filth of the city. The street cross- 
ings were sloughs. Through an expanse of foul snow 
the great throng of pedestrians waded and floundered, 
ankle deep. 

In addition to all these discomforts, as the word was 
passed that the wounded man was dying up-stairs in 
the great hotel — the Grand Llama, by the way — a 
muggy rain, which had been threatening all day, 
began to fall. It was not one of those winter rain- 
storms which by its dash and fury enlivens rather than 
depresses the heart — inspiring a tighter clutch upon 
our souls — but, beginning with a gentle, steom-like 
vapor it soon became a drizzling shower, falling in 
wav}’^ lines and insinuating its dainpness through 
clothing and umbrellas. It penetrated to the interior 
of the cars and the stages. No waterproof or closed 
coupe could shut it out. No exercise of which the 
pedestrian was capable was sufflcientl}'^ enlivening to 
stir the sluggish pulse. Upon the dumb animals, 
servants of man, the effect of such a night was no less 
pitiable. 

If it seemed chaos iu the streets, how much more 


266 


ON A MARGIN 


it appeared so to the watchers by the death-bed. 
There, friendless and alone, lay the popular idol and 
the gallant of the Cyclops ring, the greatest com- 
mercial corporation in the new world. The few men 
who stood about the couch conversed in whispers, 
and every 'face, except llawson’s, wore the shadow of 
despair. The apartment was carefully guarded from 
intruders, and it is an actual fact that many of the 
dying man’s last hours were passed without the pre- 
sence of any physician. 

Ixbar’s usefulness being at an end, it was none the 
less desirable to have him take to the oblivion of the 
grave all the guilty secrets he shared. 

Thus they stood, waiting for Ixbars to die, and, in 
a manner so customary to him, he obliged them, and 
yielded up the ghost. His body lay in state in the 
magnificent otfiees of the Cyclops company on the fol- 
lowing day — Ixbars of the multitude and the model of 
a rising generation that had already beguh its warfare 
against society. His corpse was conveyed to the grave, 
and the band of his own pet regiment, which he had 
organized and uniformed, preceded the funeral cortege, 
playing “ The Dead March ” from Saul. 

But hot upon the calamity followed another crush- 
ing blow for Walter Rawson. 

Although it was now only the middle of March, 
barely ninety days since the bold move that brought 
Kogood forward as one of the Cyclops managers, ^that 
arch thief was absolutely in jail, charged by the law 
oflScer of the municipality with common, or rather un- 


ON A 3IARGTN. 


26 t 


common, robbery. He bad been re-arrested on new 
charges, and, strange to say, could not find the 
$100,000 bail demanded. 

So, in the hour when help was most needed, the 
political prop of the ring was wanting. Its drum- 
major, Ixbars, was dead. Kawson’s steps were shad- 
owed by the paid spies of the Cyclops opposition, and 
on his part he never moved out of his house or office 
without having a few trusty defenders within call. 

In the darkest of these hours he received a letter, 
a trifling looking note, that gave him the courage of 
Hercules. It was written soon after the return of Mr. 
and Mrs. Burnaby from their wedding journey, and 
read : 

‘ “ The Willows ” — Night. 

“Dear Walter — I know your danger. Protect 
yourself at once. Cut loose from every thief as soon 
as he is detected. Keep the prey in ^sight — and des- 
pair not. Remember the eclipse. The moon may 
wane, but it fulls again. 

“ Be vigilant in misfortune. Burn out your heart 
and toss your conscience to the four winds of heaven 
— as are scattered the ashes of the holy Brahmins. 

“ Mootla.’’ 

Rawson kept himself under lock and ke}’-, and dis- 
trusted everybody. Alone he worked out the solution 
of the situation, giving to his character the royal 
patent of genius. Holding the decrees of courts in 
contempt and the united power of his foes at bay, he 
planned a ten days’ campaign, that for novelty and 
brilliancy is not equalled in the history of speculation. 

Supreme egotist as he was, Rawson could read the 


^68 


ON A MARGIN 


world’s opinion of his actions in the hearts of other 
men. He knew that odium and contempt attached to, 
his name. Some of it was justly deserved, some was 
not. He was frank with himself — a difficult confidence 
to make. Therefore, a complete surrender on his part 
would boom the Cyclops stock. He would 3deld. 

He gathered up 50,000 shares at prices varying from 
$39 to $41 — the certificates at the latter figure being 
taken in only a few hours before he abdicated.r 

When he was prepared, llawson sent to the leaders 
of the Anglo-American combination a message of con- 
ciliation. He was ready, he said, to turn over the 
company’s property to its lawful managers. 

A meeting was arranged between Mr. Clinchall, the 
new figurehead of the C^^clops selected by Gen. Wor- 
den and Walter Rawson. It took place a few hours 
later in the day., Rawson’s haughtiness toward Clinch- 
all was noticed by everybody present. There was 
ample reason for it, because this cruiser on the Barbaiy 
coast had narrowly escaped going ashore early in his 
career, because of a false beacon waved before his ej^es 
by this same Clinchall, and known as the “ Saginaw 
Salt.” As to honor between them, Rawson knew that 
the odds were in his own favor. 

The deposed president slowly descended the marble 
stairway for the last time, entered his cab, and drove 
ofl. He had only to wait. 

Relieved of the damning incubus of Rawson’s name, 
the price of Cyclops rose 34 “ points ” in three weeks. 
The ex-president unloaded his entire lot in the neigh- 


OiV A MABG/JV. - 


S69 


borliood of 5p75 per share, realizing $1,050,000 profits, 
lie then began to sell stock that he did not possess, 
going “short” to the extent of 45,000 shares, and as 
low as $66. 

About that time the new management discovered that 
twenty millions of bonds supposed to he in the treasury 
were missing. Rawson gave the fact the widest pub- 
licity. The price of Cyclops fell with a crash to $41 a 
share, enabling this bold man to purchase what he had 
agreed to deliver at, an average profit of thirty per cent. 
A neat scoop of $1,300^000 I 

This was all very pretty ; but “ the penitentiary doors 
yawned for Walter Rawson,” said the newspapers and 
the Clinchall management. Wliere was he ? i^obody 
knew. He couldn’t be found. He was indicted for 
embezzlement on half a dozen counts. 

Rumors of the utter bankruptcy of the Cyclops Com- 
pany were assiduously circulated. . It was asserted that 
millions had been embezzled by Rawson and his col- 
leagues. For four days this suspense lasted. 

Giving instructions over the private wire from his 
house, where he was snugly ensconced, Rawson bought 
Cyclops at its lowest figures. A declining market had 
no terrors for him. 

When the trap was loaded again he caused the fol- 
lowing brief note to President Clinchall to be published 
in all the newspapers : 

“ My Deak Sm — In the excitement of surrendering 
the Cyclops management to you a few days ago, I for- 
got to mention that you will find in box 3345 of the 


m ON A MARGIN. 

Muscovite Safe Deposit Company, bonds of the Cyclops 
Company to the amount of $20,785,000. Not a coupon 
is missing. I have authorized the delivery of the prop- 
erty to you. 

“ I congratulate you on the sound financial condition 
of the great corporation which you have been chosen to 
direct. I lierewith send you a statement of the com- 
pany’s assets that will greatly assist you. Sincerely. 

“Walter Rawson.” 

To this letter was appended in the newspapers such 
a clear exposition of the financial condition of the road 
that the stock regained in a few hours all it had depre- 
ciated. This was the quickest “turn” Eawson ever 
made. His sales on the long account netted him* 
$800,000. 

'When the weary struggle was ended, Walter Eawson 
returned for a few days to his old home. There he an- 
swered Mootla’s letter ; 

“ Crumpet, Saturday. 

“Dear Mootla — Your brave words saved me. I 
have ruined them all. In recognition of your sympathy 
I sold the new management 5,000 Cyclops for your ac- 
count at 74. I have taken it in at 52.‘ Inclosed please 
find check No. 6740 for profit, $110,000. 

“ This was their money, every dollar of it, and I am 
afforded peculiar pleasure in knowing that it is now 
yours. “Walter.” 

“ Magnificent !” exclaimed Mootla, waving the check 
aloft. “ ‘A whole vengeance in an act,’ as Dumas 
would say.” 

Twenty-four hours later this check was returned to. 


ON A MAR 0 IN. 


271 


Rawson by Burnaby, with a brief but respectful note 
saying that his wife, Mootla, had no use for the 
money, as her bank account was ample. He thanked 
Rawson for his kindness, and there the epistle ended. 

The facts were that Mootla had handed the check to 
her husband to deposit to her credit. Burnaby, who 
did not approve of Rawson’s methods of making 
money, had simply substituted a check of his own for 
the amount. He had no objections to Rawson receiv- 
ing Mootla’s thanks for this act of well-meant gener- 
osity, but he feared the curse that attached to Rawsoii’s 
money. 

Rawson was now the popular -hero of Wall Street. 
No one any longer disputed his supremacy. His won- 
derful resources, the vast capital that he controlled and 
could hurl, like a missile from a catapult, at the stock 
market, made him feared and courted by friends and 
enemies. 

One of the metropolitan journals published a sketch 
of Rawson in which he was called “a rocket.” Two 
weeks later, to a day, Cotton Mather purchased that 
newspaper and converted its editor into a literary por- 
cupine, companion to his brood of ichneumons. 

But about this time he unfortunately lost one of his 
oldest and staunchest friends — Jack Burnaby. They 
met one afternoon at Delmonico’s, corner of Chambers 
Street. Rawson took Burnaby aside and asked, point 
blank : 

“Will you sell The Cyclone 

“No, indeed. Where did you get such an idea ?” 


272 


ON A MARGIN 


“ I suppose you would if you could get your price.” 

“ The money of Monte Cristo wouldnT purchase The 
Cyclone. The only way you can buy it is to pay four 
cents for it on the street.” 

“It has been attacking me lately. I thought you 
might want to sell it.” 

“ That will do, Eawson. You ’re an old friend, and 
I choose to overlook the insult. But this is the end ” — 
and he turned on his heel.” 

They never spoke again ; but The Cyclone continued 
its exposures of the tricks and artifices of Walter 
Rawson. Its good intentions availed nothing. The 
gudgeons came to the net of the blind pool quite as 
plentifully. 

Cotton Mather already owned a newspaper and an 
editor with a lofty mind ; Rawson had believed he 
ought to have one also, with an assortment of finan- 
cial writers. These two gentlemen were not exercised 
about the rapid progress of journalism toward the 
borderlands of an exact art ; but they wanted a 
means of reaching the general public in disguise, 
and they intended “ to work the press for all it was 
worth.” 

With all their wide experience, those two skeptics 
continued to believe in what was once called “ The 
Power of the Press.” They belonged to the only 
class of observing people that still held to such con- 
victions. Their reasons were good ones, as will be 
shown. 

Rawson’s management of the blind pool was such 


ON A MARGIN 


273 


as to strike terror into the hearts of his rivals in busi- 
ness. He disdained all the familiar tricks of the street. 
“ Only one thing at a time” had been the maxim of 
his boldest predecessors. They had a horror of getting 
“ astride ” the market — that is, going “ short ” of some 
stocks and “ long ” of others at the same time. Kaw- 
son and Mather had detected the fallacy of this axiom, 
and just here it was that “the power of the press” 
was utilized. 

Ravvson kept control pf a few lines of dividend- 
paying properties, and these he invariably advanced 
in the midst of a most savage attack on non-dividend 
specialties. The system admitted of endless variations 
of method. 

The Blind Pool’s journals were cleverly managed. 
Cotton Mather’s paper attacked Kawson violently at 
times, and was openly arrayed against the schemes in 
which it charged him with being interested, but with* 
which, in reality, he had little or nothing to do. It 
dwelt upon the uncertainties of the “fancies” and 
the “ nickel-plated curios ” which the pool was de- 
pressing, but which Rawson was charged with carry- 
ing in fabulous amounts ; at the same time it pointed 
out the advisability of putting one’s money into prop- 
erty that yielded certain income, and was safe from 
violent fluctuations. 

However much the readers of the journal — wdiich 
everybody who speculated watched carefully — doubted 
its good faith, they were certain to ponder over the 
sage wisdQin of its editor, The longer they delibep- 


274 


ON A 31ARGIN 


ated the more convinced were they that the particular 
article then before them was not Avritten to mislead. 
A frankness in dealing with the condition of the 
market characterized the course of the journal that 
cliarmed even its most suspicious readers. “Surely,” 
they reasoned in their hearts, “ the wicked editor is 
away, and his truly good partners are in charge for 
the time.” 

So, after several days’ careful deliberation, during 
which the high-priced stocks had advanced eight or ten 
points (additional proof of the accuracy of the journal- 
istic judgment !) and the low stocks had been thrown 
away at rapidly-declining figures (convincing testimony 
as to the disinterested nature of the Avarning), the 
great public came in Avith a rush ? The “ lambs ” sold 
out all their “fancies,” pocketed their losses, and 
instead of banking their scanty balances, reinvested 
them in the “ staples ” at the top prices. Grand 
change ! 

Within a feAv days, likely as not in a few hours, the 
veracious organs chanted a different tune. The lambs 
were not frightened, hoAvever. Have “the Avicked 
partners” returned, and resumed their sway? No, 
innocence ! The wind has changed. Rather say the 
weather vane has swung, moved by an unseen hand 
beneath. ’Tis the weather-cock that gives direction to 
the currents in this part of the sky — not the Avind that 
influences it. The communicating cranks are hidden, 
but the masked control is there ! 

“ Oh S then, unhappy ones ! Hoav could you all have 


OHif A MARGIN. 


375 


’been so blind? Read, and know the madness of pay- 
ing more for anything than it is worth : 

‘‘ The Lake Shower might possibly be desirable at 
par, but at 140 it is similar to buying nitro-glycerine — 
dear and dangerous.” 

And this writer actually uses the word “ possibly !” 
But, read further, lovely lamb, if only to see how logi- 
cally an editor can think : 

“ The crowning satisfaction in purchasing low- 
priced stocks is that one knows exactly how much 
he can lose I” 

What could be truer than this ? If a man gave 
voice to such an astonishing bit of wisdom in a count- 
ing-room his best friend would kick him ; but, being 
found in the newspapers, it ’s great. Still more is the 
reader edified to learn : 

“ The heretofore neglected cheap stocks are at their 
lowest imaginable figures, and are certain to advance 
when the market changes, as it surely will in a very 
few days. Then there will be a spurt toward higher 
prices that will astonish everybody. ... It should 
not be forgotten that one can buy twice as many shares 
of stock selling below 50 as he can of ''gilt-edged'’ cer- 
tificates quoted above 'par.’’’’ 

Think of it I 

It ’s a siren’s tune, and many a good man has 
heard it. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE LAW OF REPRISAL. 

Walter Rawson had sheared the lambs of the 
political estate — local and national. The few persons 
who had escaped him had drawn out of speculation, 
satisfied with moderate gains. The capital of “the 
blind pool ” now exceeded thirty millions. Rawson 
M'as its front and figure-head, and his partner's con- 
nection was not even suspected by the commercial 
savants of Wall Street. 

These ambidextrous knights of retribution prepared 
to give the professional politicians the death-stroke. 

Cotton Mather’s cynocism was unlike Rawson’s. He 
no longer believed in the existence of integrity and 
sincerity. Out of an overweening patriotism had been 
evolved a positive contempt for the political methods 
of his country. He had assigned to himself a mission 
in life. Construing the word “retribution ” as a syno- 
nym for “justice,” he had appointed himself its dis- 
penser. 

The part that Cotton Mather took in directing the 
management of this vast retaliation campaign was by 
no means inconsiderable. He never vent into Wall 

Street, because he believed that a bird’s-eye view of the 
376 


ON A MARGIN 


277 


field is often the best. AVhile Rawson is engaged in 
this hand to hand contest on the floor of the Stock Ex- 
change, Mather was protecting his flanks and watch- 
ing the movements of the enemy. He did not think and 
act simultaneously, as did Rawson. He had not the 
mastery of details that the youngeiv-man possessed, but 
as an originating mind his was marvelous. Great ideas 
came to him most readily in repose. Nothing was too 
stupendous for him to dare undertake.* Had he re- 
solved, in the quiet of his chamber, to annex Canada 
or Mexico to the United States, he resolutely could 
have set about shaping events to that end. 

* Cotton Mather owed his mental strength almost 
wholly to his faculties of memory and observation ; his 
acuteness as a looker-on in this world had brought him 
\alf his original fortune. Even as late in life as when 
"ve first saw him at “ The AVillows ” he was prompted 
<iO introduce the mowing-machine into India — and did 
so with great profit — because he observed that the 
■«?acred cow preferred to eat cut grass. Indeed, it would 
have been difficult to apportion the credit for some of 
file yawning breaches made in the stock market by the 
mancial catapult. 

Difficult as it may have seemed, these two men often 
net in secret and calmly discussed their present and 
prospective enterprises. The two houses were con- 
nected by private wires and by telephones. A line 
from Rawson’s house to his office was also switched 
into connection with Mather whenever the younger 
ipeculator started down town. One of these meetings 


278 


ON A MARGIN 


was destined to change the face of nature on this 
globe. 

“ We must now get control of the Mississippi river,” 
began Cotton Mather, as soon as he had warmed his 
hands at the grate fire. 

“We already manage the barges, the steamboat 
traflic, and one railroad along its banks,” suggested 
Kawson, in the dark as to his coadjutor’s meaning. 

“Yes, I know,” exclaimed the old man, impatiently. 

“ But we must own the river itself ” 

“And let other people do the work while we collect 
the tolls and freights,” added Kawson, laughing heart- 
ily at the apparent absurdity of his own words. 

“That’s the idea exactly.” 

Kawson ceased his hilarity. His face mobilized in- 
stantly as he said : 

“It’s stupendous in conception and detail, but I see 
it clearly. A company with one hundred millions of 
capital. Think of it ! One million shares !” and Kaw- 
son ’s eyes grew large and tiger-like. 

“We shall put ourselves down for half the stock, as 
‘ insiders. ’ One dollar a share for us ; the public will 
cry for it at a hundred,” interjected Cotton Mather, 
rubbing his hands gleefully. 

“ We’ll utilize everything on the river and its tribu- . 
taries that can be turned to profit,” resumed Kawson, 
“ from the copper ores of Lake Pemidji to the great 
Red River raft.” 

“ Yes ; that raft will furnish kindling wood for the 
piyilized world,” added the old merchant. 


ON A MARGIN 


m 

“We shall control the ice supply of i^ew Orleans. 
Every hale of cotton that comes North, and every 
bushel of corn that is sent South to pay for it, will 
yield us tolls,” Rawson rattled on. 

“Promises well — eh, Walter?’ interjected the origi- 
nator, watching his companion’s enthusiasm. 

“We shall control all the water-power from Poke- 
gama Falls to Keokuk. The Government proposes to 
build great gunworks at Rock Island. Its action must 
be delayed until we own the river. We must bridge 
the Mississippi at St. Louis, and levy toll on every car 
that crosses.” 

“ Isn ’t it gigantic ?” demanded Mather, as the 
dimensions nnd grand possibilities of his scheme 
grew upon him. 

“Magnificent,” answered Rawson, who saw only the 
intellectual sublimity of the original idea. 

“ Prodigious ?” 

“ Symmetrical !” 

“ Astounding ?” 

“Brilliant!” 

“ Marvelous ?” 

“Dazzling!” 

“ Tremendous ?” 

“ Splendid ! But, give it a name.” 

“I Rar^^e it: ‘The National Improvement Com- 
pany,’ ” Mather hastened to say. 

Walter Rawson tacitly accepted the suggestion, for 
he dashed into details : 

“ The act of incorporation must read ‘ The Missis- 


280 


ON A MARGIN 


sippi River and its Tributaries.’ Don’t you see, that 
wih enable us to take possession of the Missouri, the 
Ohio and the Red Rivers when we so desire.” 

“Yes, yes ; I have thought of all that.” 

“ But, my dear sir, a bill will have to be got through 
Congress sanctioning this job ” 

Cotton Mather sprang to his feet. His entire man- 
ner, even his countenance, changed. lie walked 
about excitedly. Walter, and all his startling theor- 
izations, was forgotten. Mather saw only his foe. 

“Leave that to me,” he exclaimed. “Ah! that’s 
where my interest in this undertaking comes in. 
Leave the bill to me.” 

“Will the country stand it?” v 

“You know it will,” retorted the old man, waxing 
angry within. “A nation that has calmly seen its 
Congress vote away two or three belts of land twenty 
miles wide and two thousand miles long to railway 
corporations, besides guaranteeing millions of interest 
annually and allowing the beneficiaries to default to 
the government while they were paying dividends on 
the stock — such a people, I say, will stand anything. 
Why, we only ask the control of a strip of water three 
thousand miles long, and less than two miles wide, on 
an average,” he exclaimed, in conclusion. 

“Very well ; then you will come to the front in this 
matter ?” replied W, alter, interrogatively, neither as- 
senting to nor dissenting from the elder man’s declar- 
ation. 

“ I will. The next move is to make sure that the 


ON A MARGIN. 


281 


national prosperity continues,” resumed Cotton Mather, 
in a sarcastic tone. “ There must not be any sudden 
change in the administration at Washington. Every 
outside dabbler in stocks must be converted into ‘ a 
bull on the country.’ ” 

‘‘ But, the bill,” suggested Rawson, impatiently. 

“ Having procured a general corporation cliarter, 
under the laws of Hew Jersey, Delaware, or some 
other liberal State, we shall spring the enterprise in 
the National Congress, whenever a majority of its 
members have been properly convinced of its merits. 
Why, Walter, you ’ll see it go through as smoothly as 
a River and Harbor Bill. There ’ll be money in it for 
everybody. It will make a millionaire of eveiy faith- 
ful friend of the company. It will re-distribute the 
national wealth. I shall have more applicants with 
votes than we shall need. ‘ Will the country stand it ?’ 
Lord bless you, yes.” 

’‘Well, it ’s a go,” said Rawson. “I admit that I 
was staggered in the first round.” 

"‘We shall grow with it,” continued the lather of the 
scheme. “ In a quarter of a century it will outrival 
the East India Company. It’s stock will be worth a 
thousand dollars per share at the end of ten years. 
We shall lay out new towns, colonize them, seize the 
railroads that enter them, until in time we shad con- 
trol the politics in every state along the Mississippi 
banks.” . 

“ But there may be adverse legislation later on.” 

“We must get our grip on the future. No legisla- 


282 


ON A MAUOIN. 


tion, Walter, can destroy capital as fast as we can 
create it.” 

With this reassuring statement the interview termi- 
nated. 

Despite Mather’s enthusiasm in Walter’s presence, 
it was a secret which he whispered only to his inner- 
most heart that his sole object in introducing this 
gigantic measure into Congress was to revenge himself 
for the wanton injuries inflicted upon him and his busi- 
ness associates by unwise or corrupt legislation. He 
had been a good hater from his- early manhood, and 
now the floodgates of his wrath and contempt were 
opened on the members of Congress. 


CHAPTER XXyil. 

THE BRANDING IRON. 

“ The Xatioiial Improvement Company ” was incor- 
porated in the state of Dielaware. Its charter was 
smuggled through the Legislature one afternoon under 
a suspension of the rules. Cotton Mather was bound to 
admit, however, that some of the legislators of the snug 
little State were not so inexperienced as he had been 
led to believe. The bill had required prompt handling, 
and its passage had cost considerable money. There 
were fewer votes wanted than in a larger State, but not 
a single member allowed himself to go too cheaply on 
that account. The charter was broad enough in scope 
for any purpose, and admitted of » managing every 
branch of business from a river-side trading-post to a 
line of ocean steamships. The company was also 
authorized to conduct “a general commission busi- 
ness.” Its nominal capital under the charter, was ten 
million dollars, with the privilege of increasing it to 
fifty millions when the necessary national legislation 
had been secured. 

Cotton Mather organized, from members of the disaf- 
fected shipping houses of Xew York and Boston, a 
board of directors to supplant the “dummies” he had 

incorporated in the original charter, and when Congress 

283 


284 


OiV A MAnOIN. 


met he was ready for the next move. The company 
came before the National Legislature with a request 
for remarkable grants and privileges. It asked the 
exclusive right to conduct a general warehouse busi- 
ness along the navigable portion of the Mississippi 
river, and in consideration for agreeing to build Jetties 
and construct canals that would insure a sufficient 
depth of water at all seasons, asked a Government 
subsidy of one million dollars per year. 

The bill was introduced by one of the most innocent . 
Congressmen on the floor, “Honest Bill Hodge,” of 
John Brown’s Tract. Without guile as he was, Hodge 
was pre-eminently the man for Cotton Mather’s pur- 
pose. This old innocent had been won with a dinner 
and a few boxes of cigars. The bill was only read by 
its title on the day of its introduction, and was re- 
ferred to the Comittee on Commerce, as requested. 
There ended the first move. 

The Committee on Commerce did not meet for ten 
days, and in that time Mather’s ichneumons had snugly 
ensconced themselves within the bank accounts of at 
least a majority of the Committee’s members. The re- 
markable fact was that neither the leader nor his lieu- 
tenants made any mistakes. Not a single overture for 
the bill’s support was spurned. This was due to one 
man, Tom Kay, the Prince of Lobbyists. When, a few 
weeks later, success was assured, Cotton Mather raised 
him a step in the new estate of political nobility. He 
created him the King of the Ichneumons. 

Tom Kay was a remarkable person in many ways. 


ON A MARGIN 


285 


His manners were faultless ; his education was broad ; 
his experience cosmopolitan. He always dressed in 
perfect taste, and was equally at ease in the best or 
worst society. He was, beyond question, the most 
widel}’- known figure in Washington. Greatest of all his 
accomplishments was the giving of a dinner-party. 
His skill in superintending the dressing and serving of 
a boiled ham was the talk of the civilized world. The 
dainty of Westphalia became doubly toothsome under 
his maiiipiilation. 

But there was one commodity about which he was 
even better informed than hams. He knew men. If 
chartreuse and newly-mown hay developed all the 
latent qualities of the ham, brandy and champagne 
opened the heart of men so that it could be looked 
into. He was really great, because lie was able to mas- 
ter and dominate th ; minds of nearly every statesman 
he met. Still, there were some members of that Con- 
gress that he could not reach. Cotton Mather only 
shrugged his shoulders when this fact was plainly 
stated to him. He no longer believed in any man’s in- 
corruptibility. He only said that certain kinds of fish 
required a different class of anglers — even another 
variety of bait. Therefore he used another type of 
man — another color of the ichneumon tribe. He gave 
$25,000 in cash to an editor of national reputation, and 
a credit of $200,000 at a Washington bank. He told 
this man. General Chestnut by name, that there was 
even more money yet for all his friends. This flattered 
the General’s never waning belief in his own impor- 


286 


ON A MARGIN. 


taiice, and increased the commercial value of his friend- 
ship. 

There has not been in this age anything so splendid 
as life under the sunshine which Cotton Mather threw 
into that session of Congress. The whole nation felt it 
and recovered at a bound all its lost vitality. Daylight 
had long been too brief. The electric light was every- 
where , introduced. No fears of overproduction influ- 
enced the manufacturers. In the shops, the engines 
were running to their utmost capacity night aiid day, 
and duplicate machinery stood ready to move with the 
touch of a lever or the shifting of a belt when the first 
machine was worn out. The laboring men profited, 
too, because there was employment for all. Two 
workers were needed where one had sufficed before. 
Trains were speeded to their utmost. Fifty millions of 
people were 'awake and moving ! Rush, hurry, bang ! 
One great, united nation, with Washington as its 
center ! 

The rest of the world may have been indifferent to 
the future, to the unexampled prosperity of the age ; 
but the members of that Congress were not. They 
beheld the dawning of universal amity. Many, alas ! 
very many of them, if Cotton Mather’s memory can 
be credited, thumbed the crisp checks and stock certi- 
ficates distributed so lavishly by the National Improve- 
ment Company, and as they did so pledged their 
fidelity to the blooming civilization. They gazed at the 
bright, purple-faced stock certificates of the gigantic 
corporation, and were “bulls on the country.” They 


ON A MARGIN. 


287 


studied, in many instances for the first time, the map 
of the great Kepublic, traced out the tortuous course of 
the Mississippi river, and rejoiced that it had not been 
straightened by a previous generation. 

Said the distinguished engineer who appeared before 
the Committee on Commerce as Cotton Mather’s hired 
representative : 

“ The Mississippi is 3,100 miles long. It is navigable 
for large steamboats for 2,000 miles. To-day it is the 
crookedest river in the world ; more liable to overflow 
than the Nile, and with shoals more treacherous than 
the Danube. Careful calculations, based upon the 
government surveys and verified by a tour of personal 
inspection, justify me in declaring that of its 2,000 
miles of navigable waters, 512.5 can be saved by a 
system of short canals, which will reduce its course to 
an almost straight line. There is every reason why 
this great improvement should be accomplished. It 
will deepen the channel ; it will so increase the current 
that periods of high water can no longer occasion great 
inundations. The spring floods will be hurried to the 
Gulf so rapidly that they cannot gather volume enough 
to destroy the levees. It will remove the bars at the 
delta, so that ocean steamers drawing twenty odd feet 
of water can ascend with ease to St. Louis. The wares 
and stufis of the Orient and of Europe can be landed at 
the wharves along the Mississippi’s shores without 
breaking bulk. There will spring up vast cities, com- 
pared with which our present commercial centers are 
deserted villages. Trunk lines of railway will have 


288 


ON A MARGIN 


their centers there, radiating to all parts of the na- 
tion ” 

Every member of the committee was interested. 
Not a word was lost. Cotton Mather recalled the treat- 
ment which he and his colleagues from Boston had re- 
ceived from substantially the same committee only a 
few years before, and he contrasted that scene with this 
one. 

Ah ! how he despised these men in his heart, know- 
ing the reason for their rapt attention ! 

All this speechmaking was, of course a work of 
supererogation, because “the thing was fixed,” and 
the committee at once' rose, when the advocates of the 
measure withdrew, and agreed to report the bill favor- 
ably, together with an amendment audaciously incor- 
porated by Cotton Mather during the sitting. 

Of all the social centers at AVashington none com- 
pared with Cotton Mather’s rooms at the Arlington 
Hotel. So generous was his hospitality that Congress- 
men were in the habit of dropping in at any hour of 
the day, and, even in the absence of the host, ringing 
the bell to order champagne. The waiters and the 
tavern-keeper were authorized to furnish the wine ; but 
one of Cotton Mather’s faithful ichneumons was always 
present, and each man’s name, with the date and hour, 
went down in the blue-covered memorandum book to 
the account of “The Mississippi Bill.” 

The measure was cleverly brought up for its first 
reading on the heels of a hard day’s struggle over the 
Equality of Color Bill. Everybody was tired out, and 


ON A MARGIN, 


289 


not more than half the members were present. It was 
read through so rapidly by the clerk that very few 
persons understood its contents ; none followed the 
text of the printed bill. Then it was ordered to a 
second reading, and “a special order” voted calling it 
up for its final passage a few days later. Cotton 
Mather declared a scrip dividend in the interval, and 
a thousand-share certificate reached the hands of every 
stockholder. It should be stated as a crowning tribute 
to the sagacity of Tom Ray and General Chestnut 
that every share was accepted. Some members took 
it “ only as a loan,” to be sure ; but they received it, 
just the same. 

General Chestnut and Tom Ray were adroit enough 
to declare to all such as evinced any timidity that 
“ the stockholders of this great and beneficent cor- 
poration are merely sharers in the universal prosperity 
of the country. Everybody in this nation will be rich 
within a generation. There are one hundred acres of 
land for each man, woman and child. Why not float 
with the tide that only meets you earlier in Washing- 
ton than amid the obscurity of your farms and country 
. towns in the South and West ! There the on rolling 
flood of prosperity will find you, even again,” was the 
insinuating appeal to the congressmen’s cupidity. 
“ And then it wdll be doubly welcome, and will doubly 
reward you. You will then promptly recognize the 
harbinger of wealth because you have met it before — 
here in Washington.” And so on, in many keys. 

WickQd old Cotton Mather ! He was bent on sacri- 


390 


ON A MARGIN 


ficing his entire fortune, if need be, to prove the cor- 
ruption that he believed existed among his race. He 
had convinced himself that the cynic takes the only 
accurate gauge of human nature. 

It was a great day in the House, that on which the 
Mississippi Bill passed. 

There was only one young man who raised his voice 
against it. When his name was called, he asked to be 
allowed to explain his vote. He was pale, and his lips’ 
quivered with suppressed emotion as he said : 

“ Mr. Speaker : We should be aware what we 
are doing. To-morrow, when too late, we shall begin 
to repent. No misery known to humanity equals the 
first awakening of a woman after virtue has been 
bartered away. All past innocence is buried. The 
lost one parts company with happy memories for ever. 
I say to you, as men, that it is a serious act to put an 
honorable past behind you thus. We are about to 
truckle to one bold schemer’s ambition. Our conduct 
has been already recognized by the lexicographers. 
This man’s name is linked to all that is rotten in 
society, infamous in trade, corrupt in legislation, and 
cringing in the conscience. He is now part of our 
language, and the verb is ‘ To Cotton !’” 

This brief tirade made a profound sensation. 

There was silence for a few moments, but with a 
smile of pity on his face, the fine old member from 
John Brown’s Tract, father of the bill, rose and asked 
that the roll-call proceed. The bill passed by a vote 
of 203 to 41. 

Cotton Mather sat in the gallery. His agents, the 


ON A MARGIN 


291 


lobbyists, moved about the floor during the taking of 
the vote, openly sustaining the weak members, and 
thus contributed much to secure the overwhelming 
victory. The ownership of three-quarters of the House 
hardly satisfied Mather. To his regret he saw that 
several fish he had specially wished to catch had 
slipped through his net. But no fisherman is content 
with his haul ; however full his net, he begrudges the 
sea every scaly creature that escapes. 

In the Seruate, the bill had a mere dress-parade. 
Substantially the same speech, quoted from on a pre- 
vious page, was delivered by the distinguished engineer 
before the Senate Committee on Commerce. It is true, 
there was one prominent Senator, famed for his elo- 
quence, who had privately denounced the job, and 
declared that he would make “ the greatest effort of his 
life” to defeat it; but, when the day arrived, he 
dodged all opportunity for debate by remaining in the 
cloak-room, and contented himself with simply having 
his name recorded against the measure. Subsequently, 
it was learned that ex-Surgeon-General Prentiss, the 
Senator’s brother-in-law, had been appointed chief of 
the medical bureau of the company, at a salary of 
$25,000 per year. 

Hardly had Cotton Mather been apprised of the 
passage of his bill by the Senate, than he received a 
dispatch from Walter Kawson asking him to come to 
Philadelphia, where he would meet him that evening. 
Despite his extreme fatigue, consequent upon the lifting 
of the heavy anxiety under which he had been living 


392 


ON A MARGIN 


for three months, Cotton Mather did not hesitate a 
moment about complying. He glanced at a time-table, 
and found that by rapid driving he could catch an ex- 
press train for Philadelphia. 

Fohr hours later, he walked into that great half way 
house between New York and AVashington, the Conti- 
nental Hotel, at Philadelphia, and cleverly avoiding 
any mention of his name, was shown to Walter Raw- 
son’s room. His nephew’s first words were : 

“ So the bill is really through. That’s better than I 
expected. Now, it must become a law.” 

“ But, I don’t care whether it receives final sanction 
or is vetoed,” shouted Mather, sitting down. ‘‘It has 
served my purpose already. I’ve caught my game.” 

“ But it will be worth fifty million dollars — that 
charter and its franchises.” 

“ Perhaps, but ” 

“ Why, sir, it gives us control of the greatest river in 
the world. We shall make this enterprise the monu- 
ment of our lives,” continued Walter, with more im- 
petuosity than the elder man had ever seen him 
manifest. ^ 

“Yes, but I want to make it the grave of two 
hundred members of Congress. ‘ Monument ’ is all 
very well ; but I want it to cover their political car- 
casses”. 

“ You must give that idea up. The reward is better 
than the revenge.” 

“ It ’s asking too much to expect me to give up my 
revenge, ’ ’ resumed Cotton Mather, musing. ‘ ‘ I can’t. ’ ’ 


ON A MARGIN. 


293 


“Why, man, enjoy it another way.” 

“ How’s that ?” 

“Wait till the bill is signed, then repudiate all your 
contracts with the Congressmen ; get new certificates 
printed differing from the present ones in shape and 
color, and then declare all the old issue worthless — be- 
cause given without valuable consideration.” 

“But they may be transferred to third parties, and 
we should have to meet their owners in court.” 

“ Not if you act promptly. If you give the present 
possessors to understand that every holder is of record, 
they will burn the certificates, every man of them. 
They haven’t forgotten Oakes Ames’s memorandum- 
book. Then we, and a few friends, own the whole 
concern.” 

“ But I don’t see how my enemies will suffer.” 

“ Then you haven’t learned as much about humanity 
as I thought you had. The loss of the prospective for- 
tune which each man has already drawn against, 
mentally at least, in a thousand ways, will destroy 
these people’s peace of mind for the rest of their lives. 
It will be the cruelest of punishments, worse even than 
to give them the money and debauch their good names. 
O, Cotton Mather ! you and your ichneumons have 
overlooked a very simple fact.” 

“ Then it becomes a matter of money, and I can 
get very little gratification out of more money at my 
age.” 

“ But you can strike the political hangers-on a deadly 
blow. Before you promulgate the repudiation scheme, 


294 


ON A MARGIN 


you can sell these people five or six millions of the 
company’s bonds — your share, for instance. We shall 
control the stock, and so manage the company.” 

The elder man deliberated in silence for several mo- 
ments before he said : 

“ Very well ; it’s agreed.” 

And after a hurried supper, served in Walter’s room, 
Cotton Mather was driven back to the West Philadel- 
phia station, that he might return to Washington on 
the midnight train. 

To the credit of everybody be it said, the bill was 
signed the following morning before Mather was out of 
bed, and the vengeful merchant was apprised of the 
fact by the good member from John Brown’s Tract, 
who came in the blandest way to offer his congratula- 
tions. He did not leave, however, until the beneficent 
patron of civilization had given him one of the com- 
pany’s pretty certificates. The recipient had some 
qualms of conscience, but reconciled them with the 
thought that he had not been paid until after the work 
was done. 


CHAPTEE XXYIII. 

HOW A KING TRAVELS. 

About Walter Kawson hovered a flock of bright- 
faced, well-dressed men, some young, others old. They 
sought ideas, inspiration, courage. They were men of 
‘Hhe bright afterthought,” who bought at the wrong 
time and never knew when to sell. The Erench have a 
neat expression for the idea that occurs to us as we are 
descending the stairs when the opportunity to utilize 
it lias passed away never to return. They call it V esprit 
iVescalier. 

Eawson’s friends only needed to know, or to divine, 
what he was doing in the stock market to be inspired 
by brilliant ideas of their own. But as nobody ever 
learned what “the magician,” as he was often called, 
had decided to do until he was ready to let them into 
the secret, the information was not nearly so valuable 
as generally imagined. He diverted attention from his 
actual purposes, in many instances, by cultivating 
pleasant and intimate relations among the members of 
the new social estate. By a few short trips to Saratoga, 
AVashington or Long Branch, as the season served, and 
the social dinner-parties that he gave to the nabobs, 
alleged heroes, and greedy politicians, he created the 

impression that he was keeping out of the market. 

295 


296 0^ A MAROm. 

Thus was he enabled to prepare for a move in priced 
up or down. 

Unsuspected by anybody, Rawson had been buying 
the stock of the New York and San Francisco Railroad 
for months in the interest of the Blind Pool. Its market 
value had been kept in the neighborhood of 20 by 
judiciously circulated reports of Indian depredations 
and by transferring the bulk of all imperishable freight 
gathered on the Pacific coast to the Juan Fernandez 
Steamship Company. When Rawson owned fully half 
of the New York and San Francisco shares, he gener- 
ously confided the secret to a small circle of these 
friends ; and they bought liberally on an ascending 
scale up to 75 — not a little of the stock, it is sad to say, 
being supplied by Rawson himself through discreet 
brokers. He readily had himself chosen president of 
the gigantic corporation. Thoroughly reorganizing its 
executive branches, he reduced its expenses, sent the 
through freights eastward by the railway instead of by 
the steamships, quadrupled the earnings during the 
first quarter, and gave promise of a six per cent, 
dividend for the year. Nothing like the energy he 
infused into the management had ever been seen. 
With the stroke of a pen he entered into a pooling 
arrangement with his trunk lines in the East, and 
gave through bills of lading from the Atlantic to the 
Pacific. 

Then was he president of the greatest railway 
system in the world. 

The railroad king, purely of American growth, leads 


02^ A MAROlK 


life combining business and pleasure so intimately 
that the dividing line has only a hypothetical exist-^ 
ence. There is so much variety in his labors, so many 
pleasant episodes in his journeys, that a few days of 
actual office drudgery, just before each annual meet- 
ing, becomes a diversion. 

It was not always so. In former times the railway 
president passed ’most of his days in a dingy office, or 
looking to the details of purely executive work, and 
often knew the vast properties which he administered 
merely b}’^ their positions on the map. He of to-day, 
on the contrary, has his principal office on wheels — a 
private car that combines drawing-room, office, dining 
and bedrooms and kitchen. In it, at an hour’s notice, 
he leaves for the most distant of his possessions. A 
special time schedule, an engine, and the courteous 
freedom of all the rails intervening between the place 
of departure and his sjstem of roads awaits him. In 
constant possession of this sumptuous abode are his 
butler, his cook and his porters. The wine-closet is 
always full, and the dust-proof lockers carry linen of 
the whitest kind. The drawing-room is usually at the 
rear end of the car, with an enclosed veranda for a 
critical study of the roadway. There are to be found 
the softest of movable chairs. Electric bells give in- 
stant communication with the butler’s pantry, and a 
touch supplies a glass of water or a cigar. When the 
labors of the day are past, the president retires, not to 
the close and stuffy seclusion of a berth, but to a 
veritable four-poster bed. The rivalry of the times has 


298 


ON A MARGIN 


developed every possibility of comfort, even to a bath- 
tub and hot water. But strangest of all is the over- 
shadowing influence which the great money center of 
America exerts over the daily and hourly life of this 
luxurious traveler. However insignificant the station 
at which clicks a telegraph instrument, it represents 
direct communication with Wall Street — thither do all 
lines of railway and. of wire lead to-day. 

Soon after his election to the presidency of the New 
York and San Francisco Kail way, Walter Rawson 
ordered a private car, built, and, as soon as it was 
completed, started on his tour of inspection. He took 
with him a small party of friends, his secretary, and 
an expert telegraph operator. The guests assembled 
at the Jersey City depot of the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
at nine o’clock in the morning, where they found the 
coach awaiting them. Theirs was to be a special train, 
of two palace cars, and was to precede the Chicago 
express. 

Rawson arrived late, but the instant he stepped on 
board the bell rang, and away the engine dashed. The 
chase toward the western horizon began. He had in- 
vited Jack Burnaby to accompany him, in the hope of 
regaining his good will, but that gentleman had de- 
clined to go. 

If any one in that party had doubted that Wall 
Street is the financial center of this nation, the few 
days’ experience that followed convinced him of his 
error. In an hour the Stock Exchange would begin 
business, but arrangements had already been made to 


ON A MARGIN. 


299 


have the opening quotations forwarded to the Philadel- 
phia station, where they would be put on board. 

With a clear track, tlie Quaker City was reached in 
an hour and a half, and as soon as the messages had 
been received the westward course was resumed. The 
engineer who handles such freight knows what is ex- 
pected of him. The cars, on their forty-inch papier 
mache wheels, rode as smoothly as 'a landeau over the 
roads of Central Park. 

Orders were to stop only on signal. A red flag at 
Mount Joy slowed the train enough for a bundle of 
messages to be tossed into an open car window. They 
were in the hands of the persons to wliom they were 
directed, and answers were soon prepared. Quotations 
up to noon of all the leading stocks were also read. In 
the dingy station at Middletown sat a telegraph oper- 
ator, and the speed was checked sufficient to pass the 
order to him : “ Tell Harrisburg to get New York at 
once and hold it.” As the journey continues, listen to 
the rattle of words : “ Lackawanna 131,” shouts a be- 
liever in the coal stocks ; “Lake Shore 120,” rejoins a 
favorite of the trunk lines. “What’s Erie to-day?” 
asks the first traveler. “ Forty-two and a quarter,” is 
the answer. “ Sorry I didn’t sell my St. Paul yester- 
day,” self-communes a third. “What’s it now ?” 
asks his neighbor. “Down a dollar, to 91.” “How 
much have you got?” “Only a thousand.” “I’ll 
tak it all at 91.” “You can have it at a quarter 
better.” “All right, quarter it is. I’ll get par before 
we reach home.'^ 


300 


Oir A MAROm. 


Meanwhile, Walter Rawson had slipped away to Ills 
bedroom, where he was disposing of iiis telegrams with 
the aid of his secretary. 

“ Boxwood of London wants capsicum,” he read 
aloud in a message from the acting president of his rail- 
road system in New York. “That’s too many— can’t 
spare ten thousand shares. Say this in reply : ^ Sell 
Boxwood seven thousand ’ — I mean ‘ antidote ’ — get 
the code word right.” 

Several other personal dispatches prepared, he re- 
turned to the social hall at the end of the car, remark- 
ing, “ New York and San Francisco, 93.” The look of 
contentment that went round the faces of the members 
of the party (several of whom had been let, into the 
secret by Rawson as low as GO to 65) was enough to 
satisfy anybody that “life is worth living.” Harris- 
burg is reached, the telegrams are filed, several others 
received, and, as the train pulls out of the gloomy sta- 
tion, luncheon is announced. 

It is one o’clock. New York time — two hours till the 
Exchange closes. The train has been doing fifty miles 
an hour. 

Over oysters on the half-shell, boned turkey and 
salads, served with champagne and apollinaris, the 
outlook of the day’s money market is gone over again. 
The sky then clouds up, and, for a time, the densely 
wooded hills beyond the Susquehanna pass like a 
canvas by Corot— the heavy atmosphere deepening and 
enriching the greens and browns. Then the conversa- 
tion lapses into trout-hshing, and the Isaak Walton of 


301 


ON A MARGIN. 

the happy family indulges dn a disquisition on a fish of 
great local fame taken among the mountain streams of 
the Alleghanies — “ the Spot.” Rawson calls the butler, 
gives an order to have a dispatch sent ahead to Altoona 
to have a box of “spots ” ready to come aboard the 
train at four o’clock. This message is dropped at the 
next signal station, and the order is executed. Nothing 
is any trouble to the man who knows how to go about 
what he wants to do. Pittsburg at seven ; more than 
half way to Chicago, and a gain of an hour on the 
Limited Express. 

Dinner served, after which coffee and cigars. 
“Cyclops closed very strong. It will go two points 
higher to-morrow,” is thrown out as a feeler by an 
Exchange Place operator. 

“No sweetmeats after dessert, if you please,” retorts 
a favorite of the Southwesterns, seated at the card 
table near by. 

“Will you sell any at the closing figure ?” was the 
bantering inquiry. 

“I don’t mind letting you have a thousand,” rejoins 
the seller, “making good his blind,” and asking for 
two cards. 

“Done.” 

“Very well.” 

And the player, who never wrote an TOD, drops 
out of the game long enough to scribble and exchange 
the memorandum of sale and purchase, after which 
he makes a minute in his book, so that he shall not 
forget to direct his broker to borrow a thousand 


302 


ON A margin. 


Cyclops on the following day, and hand them over at 
delivery hour to his friend’s agent in New York. It is 
all done, a transaction involving over ninety thou- 
sand dollars in less than five minutes, and the player 
is ready for the next deal of the cards. To anticipate : 
this venturesome youth covered this “short ” sale from 
Omaha, two days later, at a profit of four thousand 
dollars. 

One after another the members of the party seek 
their beds. Daylight overtakes the train at the 
Indiana state-line. Breakfast, with “ spots ” as the 
cook’s de resistance, after leaving Fort Wayne. 

Fifty miles out of Chicago, the train is “ flagged ” at 
a straggling hamlet, and when tlie speed has been 
sufficiently checked, a youtig man (who had previously 
made his peace with the station-master) springs lightly 
on the front platform, as he shouts to the engineer : 
“ All right ; I ’m aboard.” 

This young man enters the drawing-room, rings the 
electric bell for a waiter, and sends his card to Mr. 
Rawson. Then he looks out. The train is “doing 
about forty to the hour,” he thinks. The railway 
king sends word for the visitor to join him on the 
rear platform, where he is enjoying his after-breakfast 
cigar. 

“Mr. Yeastcake, of the Chicago Times, I believe,” 
said Rawson, courteously, glancing again at the name 
on the card. 

“Yes, sir ; and I hope you will pardon the uncere- 
monious nature of my visit, but, really, your engineer 


OW A MAR am. 


303 


acted as if he hadn’t time enough to wait until I sent 
,my compliments on board, or your invitation was 
returned.” 

“ Quite true. You are welcome ; what can I say to 
you ?” 

“ I want to hear you talk about the financial pros- 
pects of the country,” and the reporter seated himself 
to listen. 

The real interviewer never takes any notes ; it is 
only the novice, or his impersonator on the stage, who 
draws a book and pencil on his victim. 

“Had you asked me about the comet, or art, or — 
religion, I should have had to refer you to somebody 
else ; but if you want any information about railroads, 
I can, perhaps, be of some service.” 

“ Railroads let it be, then. What, for instance, are 
railroads ?” , 

“ They are commercial enterprises, built to earn 
money.” 

“ No sentiment about you, Mr. Rawson. Thoroughly 
practical, I see. You do not believe in running trains 
merely for the public convenience ?” 

“ What does the ‘ public,’ as you call the people, care 
for the railroads, further than to get as much out of 
them for as small a consideration as possible ? It is 
all stuff about working for ‘ the public good. ’ That 
sentiment has bankrupted many a great corporation.” 

“You are certainly frank, Mr. Rawson. This infor- 
mation will surprise many quiet folks of ancient and 
humanitarian ideas.” 


304 


ON A MABOIN. 


“ It may make tart reading ; but that’s what you 
want, I suppose.” 

“ Very true ; but what will the people say ? Are 
they to be kicked, like mules ?” 

“Oh, ho I You don’t appear to care any more for 
them than Ido,” suggested Kawson, laughing heartily. 

“ But they will read what you say.” 

“Suppose they do ?” 

“ May they not act, impatiently and abruptly, some 
day ?” 

“ That’s the one peril that threatens the stability of 
this nation,” answered Rawson. “The injudicious in- 
terference of Congresses and state legislatures will pre- 
cipitate, some day, one of the most terrible panics the 
commercial world has ever known. Legislation was 
responsible for the crash in 1873. Nothing is so easily 
frightened as capital. Politicians are rarely capitalists 
— that is,” said Rawson, naively, “not at the begin- 
ning of their careers. Somehow, most of them over- 
come poverty ; but few ever cease to be demagogues.” 

“But these men are not the people.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but they do their talking, and make 
and unmake the laws for them.” 

“ Are you not unwise in saying this ? You may have 
a conflict with these legislators sooner or later, in which 
these words will be cited against you.” 

“ Afraid ! No ; bless your soul ! The man who 
controls a system of railways traversing seventeen 
states and six territories cannot say anything that will 
conciliate everybody. Nor can he readily increase 


ON A MARGIN 


305 


the number of his enemies. Whatever he might say 
• that would be popular in the West would displease the 
East, and, likely enough, throw the Southern people 
into a rage.” 

“ But surely legislators are necessary ?” suggested 

II 

Yeastcakc, still clinging to the traditions of what is 
sarcastically called social science ” that he had im- 
bibed at college. 

“ If we regard the state as a corporation, yes. But 
would the stockholders of anj' commercial enterprise 
choose for its directors — as the administrators of their 
fortunes — men who were not finaneially interested with 
them ? Would the share owners of the New York and 
San Francisco Company select any dozen men from 
your state legislature as its board of directors ? I 
think not.” 

“ Suppose we look at the other side, then.” 

“Well, if the state is not a corporation it becomes 
merely a social club. The constitution, you say y 
Every target company has a constitution. Why, half 
our legislators, state and national, have never bothered 
themselves to read it. If the state is a club, it is a 
political club. At most it needs only a governor and 
his cabinet. Now, I don’t say this as a railroad man, 
but as a citizen — for legislatures are quite as useful to 
us, sometimes, as they are obnoxious at others. But I 
can’t see that they do the people any good — and that is 
the implied premise we started with. I know their 
valuers well as anybody,” said Bawson, and he added, 
“I might say, their price,” 


306 


ON A MARGIN. 


The train came to a stop at Chicago, and the railway 
king went inside the car to change his shirt. The 
newspaper man, in a dazed condition started on his way 
to the Times office to write up his report.- 

Disconnected and unsatisfactory as the interview had 
been — general* conversation is nearly always discursive 
and illogical — it contained the cardinal principle in the 
Kawson phil<jsophy. The reporter seized on that idea, 
and the doctrines in that interview became, in the 
course of a very few months, a national issue under the 
form of a struggle in the United States Senate and the 
Empire State for a more euphonic variation of the prin- 
ciple called “ Senatorial Courtesy,” or “The Congres- 
sional Eule.” 

The special train bearing Walter Kawson, the radical, 
sped westward after half an hour’s delay. Now the 
king was on his own rails. 

Dispatches received at Chicago announced a con- 
tinuance of the advance in stocks. Everything ex- 
cept Cyclops was rushing headlong toward higher 
prices. 

At a small telegraph station, forty miles southwest 
of Chicago, the train was run on a siding, and Kawson, 
with his own operator, took possession of the wires. 
Within five minutes he was in direct communication 
with his own office in New York. The circuit went 
round by St. Louis, Cincinnati, Buffalo, and Albany ; 
but the operator knew the answer to his call, and said, 
laconically: “I’ve got him.” A batch of seemingly 
unintelligible orders were sent, reading, “Sell a thou' 


ON A MARGIN. 


307 


sand Bouncer ; cover five thousand Zulu under bees- 
wax.” “ Take all that Hawkins has to sell, and advise 
Boxwood that he can have the ‘ arsenic ’ he wanted 
yesterday. > Bought them in Chicago of Dobell ; send 
to his office for statement” — and much more of the 
same kind. Then dispatches began to arrive for mem- 
bers of the party, more quotations, requests for direc- 
tion. A drop of three points was announced in Lack- 
awanna — the very stock that Rawson had “sold” a 
thousand of (under the code word “Bouncer”) at the 
top figures a few minutes before. A bank director in 
the party was asked by wire regarding the “ paper” of 
a certain merchant which his board would in two 
hours be asked to discount to a large amount. 

There was no apparent difficulty in sending a dis- 
patch from any part of the country to the members of 
the flying train. Its course, and approximate location, 
was known to every telegraph operator, and, indeed, to 
every reader of tlie newspapers in the United States — 
and who is there that doesn’t read the newspapers 
to-day ? 

Forward again, faster than ever. A clear track now 
— “ by order of Walter Bawson.” 

Dinner was served as the Mississippi was sighted — 
in courses and smoking hot. Soup, fish, roast — from 
“the little lambs” of Iowa — entrees, sweets, cheese, 
fruits, nuts and coffee. Even the bread was baked on 
board — the wheat may have been ground, for all one 
knows. Claret, champagne, and seltzer — each with its 
course. Then cigars, cards, and — bed. 


308 


ON A MARGIN 


When a waiter again presented himself at the state- 
room door, in answer to the summons of the electric 
bell, and with the traditional morning cup of black 
coffee, he was asked : 

“ Where are we now ?” 

“ At Omaha, sir.” 

A fortnight is a good while ; but such was the his- 
tory of every day of the time, until the members of 
the party re-embarked on the ferryboat at Jersey City, 
that was to bear them across the Hudson, to the com- 
mercial maelstrom whose vortex is the Stock Exchange. 
It seemed hardly possible that they had dined within 
the same week at the Cliff House, on the Pacific’s shore 
below San Francisco. 

The ‘‘inspection” cost $25,000, but Rawson marked 
all the bills “OK,” and the several companies of 
which he was the head paid them. 

Although Rawson was the last to learn the fact, 
Belwar had returned from abroad, and opened an office 
in Mew street. The capital was supplied by a wealthy 
aunt, who obligingly died and made the scapegrace her 
sole heir. He knew nothing about the details of the 
brokerage business ; but as a seat in the Exchange cost 
only $20,000, and clerks and stock-indicators could be 
hired, he saw no obstacle to success. This was his last 
folly. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A GIANT OF TO-DAY. 

No time was lost in launching the monstrous Nat- 
ional Improvement Company on its career of usefulness 
and prosperity. Its offices in New York were the most 
suniptuous ever seen. The still-remembered splendor 
^of the Cyclops building was far outshone by that of the 
giant corporation directed by Cotton Mather, the now 
notorious financier and only commercial rival of Wal- 
ter Rawson. 

The books for the subscriptions to five millions of 
bonds were only open fifteen minutes, and there was so 
much dissatisfaction evinced because all the persons 
in line could not be accommodated, that “ privileges ” 
vere given to them for the next allotment, to be made 
i month later. During the interval, it may be inci- 
lentally mentioned, these “preferences,” or “ privi- 
-.eges ” of early subscription, sold at fabulous prices, a 
•syndicate of brokers representing several large capital- 
ists paying $10,000 for the privilege of being first in line 
vhen the books were re-opened. 

Everybody was clearly in earnest. Work on the 
mighty undertaking began at once. A depot of sup- 
plies was established at Cairo, III. ; twenty great rafts 
vyere built, upon which small villages of cabins for the 


310 


ON A MARGIN 


workmen were constructed. Thoroughly equipped sur- 
veying parties were dispatched for the scene of opera- 
tions within a week. A dozen steamers were bought at 
New York and Philadelphia for the company’s use, and 
sent ’round by sea to New Orleans. 

Along the great river’s course sites were selected for 
future centers of commerce. . 

Five thousand laborers, recruited from the ranks of 
the disaffected working classes of all the large cities 
and the mining districts, were shipped to the Missis- 
sippi valley by special trains, and ten canals were under 
way before the end of six weeks. 

“ There is not a ledge of rock below Cairo ; the wJio-le 
Mississippi valley is of drift formation,” — geological 
fact. The work of excavation was not difficult. All 
the latest appliances known to engineering were called 
into service. Every steam excavating apparatus in the 
country was purchased. Shovels and picks were bought 
by the thousand. An ingenious inventor, familiar with 
every branch of science, was summoned, and excavated 
a half mile of canal in a week by the use of a steam 
drill and dynamite. . 

He had calculated the depression of tho. left 

after an explosion so accurately that he could tell to an 
inch the depth of water in the “ cut off” after the 
river was turned into it. He put the steam drills to 
work in the soft clay, sunk the holes 200 feet deep and 
80 feet apart along the line which the bottom of the 
canal was to take. Then they were heavily charged 
with dynamite, connected in a circuit by electricity, and 


ON A MARGIN Sll 

a half-mile strip of earth was blown skyward — “ out of 
the track of civilization,” as somebody said, in com- 
menting on the achievement. Several men were killed, 
but that mischance was forgotten in the splendor of 
success. 

Railways were constructed along the canals as the 
work progressed, and all the earth excavated mechani- 
cally was carried to the up-stream end of each cut-off 
and dumped upon the top of an arched magazine filled 
with the most terrible explosives. Just as soon as each 
section was completed the bulkheads were rended 
apart, and the huge mass of earth covering the hidden 
magazine was hurled into the main channel of the river, 
diverting its course into the new one. A fleet of barges, 
loaded with stone, was then floated down-stream and 
sunk against the debris^ thus so effectually damming 
the river that it never hesitated for an hour about 
taking up its new route to the gulf. The idea was at 
once brilliant and simple of execution ; and, although 
envious engineers shook their heads, the great work 
went rapidly forward. 

More men were constantly drawn from the centers of 
labor. The climate was exceedingly unhealthy — fevers 
of a dozen different types prevailed, and there was a 
neat graveyard by the side of each section of the canal. 

One year after the company was granted the fran- 
chise, it was furnishing employment to twenty-five 
thousand men. It had dug one hundred miles of canal. 
It had straightened twenty-three of the worst crooks in 
the mighty river. It had, feduced the distance from 


312 


0^ A MAROm. 


St. Louis to New Orleans three hundred miles. The 
advantages for the down-stream passage were al- 
ready apparent. But every dollar’s decrease in South- 
bound freight rates added three to the North-bound 
taritf. The strongest steamboats on the river found it 
well-nigh impossible to stem the swift current. The 
flood of waters rushed through the new shutes as 
down a mill-race. The more easy and rapid the passage 
to New Orleans, the more evident did it appear that 
there would come a time when the steamboats could not 
get back. 

Curiously, "Walter Eawson had foreseen this, 
and with the apparent purpose of anticipating his sup- 
posed rival, already controlled the two trunk lines of 
railway that had been built along the Mississippi’s 
banks. These roads now carried the cotton and the 
rice of the South to the Northern markets. It was clear 
that all Northern bound traffic must very soon be 
driven from the river to the railroads. 

An off-shoot of the gigantic parent corporation of 
Cotton Mather, called “ The Cairo Construction Com- 
pany,” began to build immense barges which were in- 
tended only to carry freight down the river. These 
huge rafts were of capacity sufficient to carry one hun- 
dred thousand bushels of wheat or corn each, and a 
strong tug-boat could take a fleet of them through from 
St. Louis to New Orleans in four days. That certainly 
was a revoluion in the carrying trade that affected 
every railroad interest in the United States. It set the 
managers of these gigantic monopolies to thinking as no 




Oli A A/ARGIJY. ^13 

other event in the history of commercial intercommu- 
nication ever had. 

In course of time, the now hold directors of the Mis- 
sissippi Company, as it was popularly called, through 
tlieir agents and engineers, began to lay an embargo on 
every city and town along the lower river, so situated 
that it could be left high and dry inland by the construc- 
tion of a cut-off. 

This raised a tremendous outciy, the echo of which 
was heard in Washington ; but the Mississippi Company 
was greater than Congress. It took no notice whatever 
of the memorials and protests from the state legislatures, 
and its officers only sneered at the threats of the state 
executives to call out the militia. “The tide of civili- 
zation ” now created as much consternation among the 
inhabitants of the Mississippi valley as the periodical 
uprising of the river’s waters had previously done. 

Walter Ilawson in New York watched the course of 
events with amazement. He felt that he had always 
been bold ; but he realized that his schemes had been 
only child’s play compared with this one of Cotton 
Mather. This old man liad become a financial Frank- 
enstein, and he saw that the formerly pliable merchant 
W'as no longer his coadjutor but his master. 

Before the agitation had died out in the South a like 
excitement was spreading down the stream from St. 
Paul. The Upper Mississippi was much lower than it 
ever had been in the dryest seasons. The rocky ledge at 
Keokuk was entirely bare of water, and the rapids at 
Davenport were unnavigable. The steamboat interests 


314 


ON A MAUGIN 


of the upper river had not time to organize for resist- 
ance before Kawson had removed all grounds for com- 
plaint on the part of the grain-growers, miners, pro- 
ducers and shippers by lowering railroad freight rates 
beneath those of river transportation. Safety, speed 
and quick profits ” was his cry, and those who joined 
in it shouted so much louder than the steamboat men 
that public opinion was befogged. Steamboat traffic 
on the Upper Mississippi was declared to be an absurd- 
ity — even by the stockholders of the Mississippi Im- 
provement Company who lived along its shores. Wliat 
was the use of the boats ? A line of railway followed 
each river bank from St. Paul to the mouth of the 
Missouri. 

Down the river at the base of operations the callw*ns 
still going abroad for more men ; just as everywhere in 
the North arose the demand for more stock certificates. 
AVhen white and colored laborers could not be obtained 
Chinese workmen were introduced ; and although they 
brought with them their filthy habits and their more 
horrible diseases, they were found tractable and valu- 
able. They were imported by the shipload and brought 
from San Francisco to the seat of operations by special 
through trains. 

Despite Cotton Mather’s tireless energy and the stu- 
pendous progress that wa*s making, there were many 
dissatisfied people in the nation. Some of the Con- 
gressmen were impatient for their first cash dividend 
— as yet they had orily the elaborately engraved certifi- 
cate of stock. A few brokers who had not been em- 


ON A MAnOlN 


315 


ployed in floating the bonds and stock were doing all in 
their power to depreciate the propert}’', refusing to 
recognize any present or prospective value in the enter- 
prise. 

Cotton Mather was kept thoroughly informed of the 
changing sentiment toward him among his Senatorial 
and Congressional friends. Still, no one could have 
imagined from his conduct that he suspected anything 
®f the kind. He was moving from point to point along 
the river where the vast improvements were in progress. 
He was, beyond question, the inspiring genius of the 
enterprise — a work in comparison to which the Suez 
Canal was mere play. Though he knew nothing of 
the practical engineering difficulties to be overcome, he 
cared not what they were ; he believed in the omnipo- 
tent power of money. The damages to navigation 
were of no moment to him. The same potent element 
that had shut the eyes of Congressmen would silence 
the mutterings of complaint. 

Until the vengeance was complete, he must go ahead. 

The one feature that particularly pleased him was the 
respect shown him by the vast army of laborers em- 
ployed in his yawning ditches. He went among them 
freely. This intimacy recalled the days in which he, 
too, had been a homeless wanderer, forced to labor for 
his bread. Societies were formed, each with its fund in 
aid of the sick iniured or for the benefit of the 
families of the dead. These movements wpi’e p^^our- 
aged by the President of the National Tmprovemei^' 
Company in substantial ways. He headed all the sub- 


316 


ON A MARGIN 


scrlptions with a round sum. It wasn’t that he cared 
anything for mankind ; hut his purpose was to make 
the world believe that he cared nothing for money. 

With the advent of the Chinese new complications 
arose. They had all been imported after the signing of 
a bond and agreement, according to which the company 
guaranteed to send their bodies back to the Flowgry 
Kingdom in case of death. Some of the miserable 
Celestials were so wretchedly unhappy and discontented 
that, despairing of ever being able to return alive, they 
calmly secreted themselves over a mined mound, in 
order that they might be buried in their native land 
after the next explosion. 

The introduction bf the Chinese produced consider- 
able social bitterness. The whites and negroes had, 
after some disagreements, accepted the inevitable. The 
division superintendents had instituted a rivalry be- 
tween the two races. Equal amounts of work were 
assigned to gangs of blacks and whites, and reports of 
the work were placarded at the headquarters of each 
division. But the Chinese could not be spurred by 
rivalry ; they were tireless and faithful, but toiled with- 
out enthusiasm on a canal which was to ensure the 
prosperity of a land in which they could not feel any 
possible interest. Occasionally they were attacked by 
the other races, and not unfrequently a Mongolian got 
his queue cut off by a vengeful Caucasian. A case of 
hari-kari was the invariable sequel. 

Another strange circumstance attendant upon the 
work was the appearance of a new and alarming mal- 


(m A MARom. 


sn 

ady. Digging in the damp alluvial soil of the Mis- 
sissippi bottom-land appeared to engender it. In its 
early stages the disease resembled ague, was attended 
with chills and fever ; but not yielding to the usual 
treatment, was soon followed b}^ paralytic symptoms. 
These were succeeded by a slow but ceaseless withering 
away of the body. One limb_^after another was at- 
tacked, until, after months of agony, the patient died 
of exhaustion. Strange to say, the power of locomo- 
tion was generally the last to fail. The hands were, as 
a rule, first affected ; the fingers lost power to hold any- 
thing ; then the palsy extended to the arm. 

This disease struck terror into the hearts of the 
white and the negro laborers. Onl}'^ tlie clever tactics 
of the engineers prevented a stampede. Having 
played the Black against the White, these officers now 
checked the disaffection by bringing the Yellow forward 
as the living embodiment of calmness and persever- 
ance. Forgetting that the Mongolian was far from 
looking at life as a philosopher when his queue was 
gone,, the directing geniuses of the National Improve- 
ment Company now pointed to the Chinaman’s stolid 
faith in Providence, just as if he worshiped the same 
God as the acclimated races. 

The Mongolians certainly did not make any ado 
about the malady. They went to bed at night with 
their opium pipes as usual. When one of their num- 
ber was taken with the disease the others isolated 
him. After leaving by his side some rice, water, bread, 
a small joss, and a very sharp knife, they gave him no 


^18 


ojsr A margm. 


further thought. The unfortunate rarely allowed him^ 
self to survive his store of provisions. “The Chinese 
called the malady “fung die;” but, as none of them 
spoke even pigeon English, explanations were impos- 
sible. , 

This distressing subject had not received aii}^ special 
consideration from Cotton Mather, until one night in 
his room at the dismal little Cairo hotel a peculiar in- 
cident occurred. 

The day had been raw and cold for the season, and 
he had ordered a fire in the stove. He assumed it had 
been built. He picked up a stick of wood to add to the 
fuel, but in stooping to reach the stove-door, he fell 
forward, and only saved his face from contact with the 
iron surface by putting out his right hand. The broad 
palm appeared to stick to the metal. Naturally, he 
supposed he had badly burned his hand, but he felt 
no pain. He examined his palm and his fingers, but 
saw no sign of blisters. 

The mystery of this incident grew on him. An un- 
accountable fear seized him. He passed an uneasy 
night. Morning found him so distressed in mind that 
he sought the chief physician of the company, ex-Sur- 
geon General Prentiss', and related the occurrence as 
having happened to one of the department bosses. 
His statements were inaccurate, 'because his major 
premise was incorrect. He started with the assump- 
tion that the stove was hot, whereas, in fact, it was 
cold. Then he said, carelessly : 

“A paralysis of the nerves of the hand, I presume ?” 


ON A MARGIN. 


319 


“Possibly,-’ replied the physician, cautiously ; “ but 
in the locality you mention such symptoms ma}’^ be far 
more serious.” 

“Indeed!” # 

“Yes ; and I fear from what you tell me that there is 
no help for your man ” 

“ But, you oughtn’t to tell — him this ? It is ter- 
rible.” 

“Why, no; of course I wouldn’t tell him what I 
fear ; and you will be particularly careful, I trust, not 
even to hint at my worst suspicions. But I recognize 
the marked symptoms of the dreadful disease whicli has 
sprung from the mould and dampness of the Arkansas 
river section. It appears to be contagious. Contact 
with the clothing of an infected person suffices. Still, 
I don’t know what to advise. As a gang-boss, of course 
he mixed with the men freely ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Shook them by the hand, perhaps ?” 

“Often — even wore their clothing, on one occasion,” 
said Cotton Mather. Then, recollecting himself, he 
stammered : “ That is, I believe he wore another man’s 
coat one day, when he had to make an exploration in a 
tunnel heading that was very damp.” ^ 

“Then it’s all up with him. He has, the ‘ mah- 
fung. ” ’ 

“The what?” exclaimed Cotton Mather, turning 
ghastly pale. 

“The ‘mah-fung,’ another type of the ‘ fung-che.’ 
More slow in its progress, but not less fatal,” 


320 


ON A MARGIN 


“Look here, Prentiss; you know very well I don’t 
understand Latin,” said the capitalist, savagely. 

“ That ’s Chinese. It ’s terrible enough in that lan- 
guage.” 

“ Well, what is it in English ?” 

“ Leprosy.” 

“ Oh ! God !” He turned ashen. 

“Don’t let me frighten you, Mr. Mather ” 

“But, surely, it can be cured ?” 

“No; it is incurable. The best medical talent of 
Paris is now investigating its nature ; but so far, I be- 
lieve, without successful result.” 

“How long has that man to live if he has such a 
horrible disease ?” 

“ With this slow type he may last four or five years.” 

“That ’ll do, Prentiss. I take a peculiar interest in 
the man, and he shall be saved if money can do it. 
I ’ll go to him at once.” 

The learned physician, whose acquaintance the reader 
formed at “The Willows” some time ago, bade good- 
night to the life-long scoffer at physic. 

Cotton Mather was panic-stricken. Age had told 
upon him, and he was no longer the master of his will 
at times. , He forgot the great Mississippi improvement 
for ever. 

Gathering up about twenty thousand dollars in bills 
that remained in his safe at Cairo, he boarded a niglit 
boat down the river. Carefully shaving off* his splendid 
beard in his stateroom, he went ashore at Memphis and 
took the first train for New York, traveling in the 


ON A MARGIN. 


321 


seclusion of a drawing-room section. Thence he took 
passage the same day in the steerage of a vessel bound 
direct for Bordeaux, every comfort being sacrificed to 
the preservation of his disguise. 

Fourteen days of indescribable misery of mind and 
body brought him to the harbor. Before entering the 
small boat to reach the shore he carried his bedding to 
the deck and dropped it into the sea. 

Having only one idea In his head, namely, the pro- 
curement of the best medical care in the world, this 
wretched old man left on ‘the night train for Baris, and 
was set down at the Orleans depot about daylight. 

He entered a small cafe near b}^, where he breakhxsted 
on whatever the waiters, in their goodness, brought 
him, for he couldn’t speak or understand a single word 
of the language. Then, with a map in his hand, he 
started for the great hospital of Saint Louis, the merits of 
which he had found set forth in his guide-book. Beach- 
ing it at last on foot — for he couldn’t get a cab-driver 
to comprehend whither he wanted to go — he was ad- 
mitted as a private patient after considerable parley, 
he agreeing to pay five hundred francs per month and 
the expense of a special attendant. 

He shortened his name again.. He was addressed as 
“ Monsieur Cotton. ” * 


OTaPTER XXX. 


THE JUNIPER AGE. 

In the splendor of its appointments and intenor 
decoration, no gentleman’s club in America could rival 
the Juniper. It’s site commanded one of the most 
costly corners of the Fifth Avenue. Members of the 
best society passed its windows in daily dress i)arade. 
Many marriageable and ambitious young women made 
this afternoon pilgrimage of the Avenue in cunningly 
shaped phaetons of Parisian design ; or, if the snow 
favored, in low, fantastic sleighs, straight from St. 
Petersburg, hoping for approving smiles from the Juni- 
per Club. At its windows, every afternoon, sat the 
young married men and bachelors of Xew York as self- 
commissioned, but recognized, critics of this passing 
show. In the best society, a Juniper Club verdict was 
one from which there was no appeal. 

There had been a time, within the memory of man, 
when another social cabal fixed the status of all debu- 
tarfts. That was in the ascendancy of the Chiliad Club 
— a solemn organization, that had already secured a 
start of half a century on its thousand years of pros- 
pective existence. It should have been called the Mil- 
lenium Club, for its dotards believed that they^ con- 
trolled the American Satan, Its traditions were as 
322 


ON A MARGIN. 


323 


antique as its furniture ; sperm candles were its affecta- 
tion and delight. It repudiated the present. Its mem- 
bership was restricted to ten hundred, just as its 
charter was limited to a thousand years. The Chiliad 
M'as the' most exclusive club in the world. A candidate 
for its mysteries had to be “ posted ” more than a gen- 
eration before his name was reached, and then a single 
adverse ballot dashed the aspirant’s hopes forever. To 
a Frenchman, the Academy was far more accessible, 
for, though the membership of the Chiliad was a thou- 
sand instead of forty, the Chiliasts appeared to be 
“immortals,” indeed, for they never died and never 
allowed their membership to lapse. This old club was 
rich beyond all earthly necessity. It regularly invested 
its annual surplus in a plot of ground further and fur- 
ther north of the Harlem. It already had a chain of 
outposts e^^tending to West Farms. It wanted to be 
sure of an eligible site for its club-house four or five 
hundred years hence. It was slow, mysterious, power- 
ful, but narrow and domineering to the rest of this 
small world. 

Of late years it had lost popularity. The Chiliad was 
still satisfied with itself ; but everybody outside its roll 
had forgotten it since the transcendent rise of the 
young Juniper Club. The Chiliasts, as their name 
indicated, believed in a millenium of their own. They 
had Satan with them, it was admitted, but they re- 
strained him by closely welded fetters called by-laws 
and house rules. The JunipeVians lived neither in the 
past nor future. They were men of to-day. Their 


324 


ON A 3IAR0IN 


doors swung a welcome to every guest properly intro- 
duced. Satan was there, also, but they gave him rein. 
He was loosed. The Juniperians delighted to see him 
skip about. He was sociable when one understood him 
and so long as he was respectfully treated. He was one 
of them. They felt sure of keeping him, for he got liis 
one soul every year. 

The Chiliad was patriarchal, austere ; the Juniper 
was ju venal in the precious Shakespeare sense of 
“ youthful.” 

The Juniper Club was abreast of the age its members 
so largely aided in creating. It was thoroughly Ameri- 
can, did not ape any foreign social clubs. Gas was not 
bright enough for the eyes of its members ; the electric 
light glowed in every room throughout the building. A 
private telephone system connected it with every part of 
the city. It maintained a cab company of its own. Its 
letters and its mail were forwarded to and transmitted 
from the post-oflfice, three miles distant, by a pneumatic 
tube. Private lines of telegraph connected it with 
every broker’s office and with all social centers, in 
America. There was no delay at the Juniper Club. 

In sbme respects its tastes were fastidious. All 
games of cards were played in kid gloves ; but, anoma- 
lous as it may appear, each man at tlie table was re- 
quired to remove his coat and roll up his shirt sleeves 
before he sat down. ‘Attached to every table was a 
valet in full livery, who shuffled and dealt that no time 
might be lost. A pack of cards was never dealt twice. 
The club had a card factory of its own. Each new 


ON A MARGIN 


335 


hand at poker meant another “ deck.” The colors and 
designs on the backs of each pile were strikingly dis- 
similar, and after each hand was played a second valet, 
in full club livery of juniper blue, turned the pretty 
pasteboards face downward, and compared their backs 
to see that all -were of the same family. Nobody 
touched any cards except those given him to play. It 
was a frank and manly recognition of the fact that no 
one wished to suspect another of trickery and fraud. 
If, after these precautions, deception were detected, the 
directors never interfered, and it was regarded as ex- 
ceedingly discourteous to mention the circumstance or 
to leave the game. The club did its whole duty. It 
placed each member who played on an equal footing ; 
after that he must take care of himself. 

The heinous and unpardonable offense in the Juniper 
Club was to be close with one’s money. It was a rare 
event for a member to be expelled on that charge, 
because a sordid man could never pass the costly ordeal 
of initiation. The entrance fee was $10,000 and the 
annual dues $1,000. Every new member was expected, 
also, to give a supper to the twelve directors, at an 
average cost of $100 a plate. 

At the Juniper Club it required three hours to serve 
the simplest dinner. This was not owing to any imper- 
fections in the service, but because of the endless num- 
ber of courses, the plenteousness of the wine and the 
vast amount of talking that had to be done. Its table 
dViote dinner was the greatest in the world, and cost 
$10, exclusive of wine. Whenever a member was de- 


326 


ON A MARGIN. 


sirous of adding to the expense, he was instructed to 
tlirow the cut-glass on the lloor after each wine course. 
The club had its own brand of champagne, and had 
recently closed a contract with the monliG of Char- 
treuse for the entire stock in their cloister vaults. That 
famous after-dinner liqueur had become the established 
evening drink at the Juniper Club, and a royally talk- 
ative throng it made of those who sat up with it long. 

The club’s most charming feature was a hanging gar- 
den covering its roof, where its members delighted to 
sit in pleasant weather under a canopy of silk, to smoke, 
drink and extol the jolly Juniper age in which they 
lived. Some of these informal gatherings amid the rho- 
dodendrons, palms and orange trees that waved in the 
breeze at that lofty height were remarkably brilliant in 
many ways. Bright, genial, successful young men, with 
brains as well as millions, assembled there, and many 
clever words were coined and stories milled. 

At one corner of this beautiful place, screened from 
all intrusion by a double line of fragrant, blooming 
orchis, sat a small group of men on one of the prettiest 
autumn nights the moon ever shone on. Every mem- 
ber of the party could draw his check for a million save 
one, and he was the guest and lion of the passing hour. 
He sat gracefully in a great easy chair, not directly 
facing the table, nor yet so far away but that he 
could reach a quaint liqueur glass of irridescent hues 
that alternately stood thereon or rested at his lips. He 
was eomparatively poor, though he probably had hand- 
led more money than anybody in his presence. But 


ON A MARGIN 


327 


he had seen the world, loved wine and good company, 
and never distrusted anybody. He rarely smoked in 
public, because it could not be done gracefully. 

The party was drinking chartreuse and brandy and 
discussing a first-night performance from which they 
had returned within an hour. It was the opening play 
of the new season. Opinion differed very much regard- 
ing the author’s merits, the stage-mounting of the piece, 
and the comprehension of the actors. 'When they had 
exhausted the subject of the night, a shrewd young 
banker turned impulsively to Tom Ray, for it was he 
who filled the post of guest, and said : 

“Pledge us, old boy.” 

“ A sentiment ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ But how ? When we cannot agree on so common- 
place a matter as a play, shall we hope for success in a 
toast ?” 

“We insist,” shouted several voices. 

Tom Ray gazed rapturously toward the cut-glass de- 
canter in the center of the table, through which the 
moonlight passed to emerge emerald-hued. Then he 
lifted the sparkling green globule, refilled to the brim, 
and said : 

“On an evening very much like this, though in 
winter, I sat under the pagoda on the high terrace in 
front of the casino at Monte Carlo, overlooking the sea. 
A young Englishman was at the other side of the little 
table that held our cigarettes and a flagon of this divine 
liquor. For days I had been slowly surrendering to 


ON A MARGIN 


ennui, and to my companion, though hardly half my 
age, the world was already i^cisse. Suddenly he raised 
his tiny glass, brought it devotedly to his lips, and 
with a depth of feeling that was really impressive, 
spoke thus, as nearly as I can recall : , 

“ ‘ Who could refuse 

Green-eyed Chartreuse? 

Kipened and mellow 
(The f/reen, not the yellow). 

Use, not abuse, 

Bright little fellow. 

O never refuse 
A kiss on the lips from 
Laughing Chartreuse V ” * 

Everybody was pleased. A dashing young yachts- 
man sang a dainty little French melody that he had 
learned from a peasant girl at Biarritz, another mem- 
ber of the party told a story with a droll climax, and 
all drank to the life that hurried past. Ultimately, 
everybody at the table was more or less heated — at 
least all except Tom Kay. He was cool, contented, 
and unflushed. 

An idea occurred to a member of the party. He 
called a waiter, and, when he stood beside the table, 
turned to Tom Kay and said : 

“ I say, dear old fellow, invent us a new drink.” 

“Great idea,” said another. “Make this night his- 
torical.” 


* The writer has not been able to fix the authorship of these lines ; 
but they are not his, nor did they originate with Tom kay. 


ojsr A AfAiwm. 


m 


“ The resources of the Juniper wine-cellars are at 
your service. You have only to say the word,” con- 
tiued the first speaker. 

“ It is not easy to grant the request you make of me,” 
replied Tom Ray. “ I will think over it, and send you 
a receipt.” 

“ Ko ; now — an inspiration.” 

“ Very well, if you insist,” and Tom Ray beckoned 
the waiter to approach, excused himself that he might 
hold a brief whispered conversation with him, after 
which he resumed his seat. An interval of three 
minutes passed, at the end of which the waiter re- 
turned with a large pale-green glass bottle in a cooler 
and a half-dozen phials of club soda. All labels had 
been removed, and the curiosity grew with this at- 
tempt at mystery. 

“ The condition is that nobody asks any questions 
until every glass is drained.” 

“ Agreed !” said all, in one voice. 

The cosmopolitan poured out the limpid liquid from 
the flagon until it stood an inch deep in each of the 
six tall, fragile glasses. Then, at a signal, the at- 
tendant whisked the corks out of the soda bottles and 
dashed their contents, smoking with excessive coldness, 
into the neat spirits. The glasses sparkled, and the 
bubbles danced about their rims. The distribution of 
the potions about the small circular table was made in 
a moment, but before a single person had laid hold of 
his prize, Tom Ray said : 

“Remember, I’ve never tasted this myself. It is 


330 


ON A MAR OIK 


exactly what you asked, for — an inspiration, an impro- 
visation. Now !” 

Every glass was drained ; but what a variety of coun- 
tenances were to be seen about that table ! No two 
faces expressed the same verdict. 

“Soap suds,” said one. 

“ Beastly,” exclaimed the next. ' 

“Whew !” ventured another. 

“Excellent,” commented Tom Kay, calmly but de- 
cisively. His opinion, though given on his own decoc- 
tion, was accepted as impartial and conclusive. 

“ What is it ?” asked one of the severest censors, 
more respectfully. 

Tom Kay replied, solemnly : “ Plain soda and the 
juice of the juniper berry ” 

“Gin?” all exclaimed, with a gasp. They had 
never tasted a common drink. 

“ Certainly, gin — what could be more closely associ- 
ated with the name of this wonderful club ?” 

“But, it’s made for varlets,” stammered the 
banker. 

“ By mistaken tradition, yes,” answered Tom Kay ; 
“ but whenever the Juniper Club leads in an innova- 
tion, all New York will follow. This drink can be 
made the craze of the town within a week.” 

“But, it isn’t good.” 

“ That doesn’t matter in the slightest. If the Ju- 
niper Club endorses it, it Avill go,” rejoined Tom Kay, 
more good-naturedly, as the criticism grew more keen. 

“ What a lark,” broke in the yachtsman. “I ’ll 


ON A MAROm. 


331 


astonish every bar I strike to-morrow, by asking for 
this drink. But, I say old boy, christen this new in- 
ternal irrigator.” 

“Yes, give it a name.” 

Tom Ray took up two bottles of soda, and, crash- 
ing them into the ice-cooler, exclaimed : 

“ Gin Fiz !’’ 




CHAPTEE XXXr. 


FROM THE GRAVE. 

With Cotton Mather’s mysterious flight from the 
scene of his operations on the Mississippi, all work 
stopped. No better example is found in history of the 
supremacy of a strong mind. When he forsook it, the 
undertaking was promptly denounced as mad and 
visionary by everybody. A petition, exactly eight 
hundred feet long, was forwarded to Congress from 
the cities of the Mississippi valley, asking a grant of 
five millions, to repair, in part, at least, the injuries 
done to internal navigation. 

The disappearance of President Mather was vari- 
ously commented on throughout the nation. A few 
persons, out of charity or self-interest, declared that 
Cotton Mather had been murdered by some of his dis- 
affected or dissolute laborers, and that his body filled a 
nameless grave “on the banks of the river he loved so 
well.” Strong color was given to this story by Ex- 
Surgeon General Prentiss’s testimony regarding his last 
interview with the missing man. Dr. Prentiss testified 
that Mr. Mather had declared his intention to set out 
on a mission of mercy among his laborers. Confirma- 
tory evidence of another kind was found in the fact 

that Sheriffs’ officers and vigilance committees prose- 
332 


ojsr A MAR am 333 

cuted their vain search during several months. Another 
theory advanced was that he had gone to Europe on a 
secret mission, to negotiate further loans. But this 
was disproved by the treasurer’s statement, which 
showed that the company had not been in need of 
funds. 

That Cotton Mather was not in hiding in New York 
was settled to the satisfaction of the most skeptical. 
Detectives and other interested persons knew that he 
had for several years lived at a small hotel on Madison 
Square. The real grief and anxiety of Mrs. Burnaby, 
his adopted daughter, showed unmistakably that she 
knew no more than anybody else about the old mer- 
chant’s fate. Her movements were “ shadowed ” for 
weeks without result. The most inquisitorial espion- 
age over lier correspondence, through the medium of a 
corrupted maid-servant, failed to show that she was in 
communication with her putative parent. The most 
cynical members of the police force were finally willing 
to admit that her sorrow was genuine, and public 
opinion reluctantly decided that Cotton Mather was 
dead. 

The collapse of the National Improvement Company 
created a terrible flurry in every branch of commerce. 
So many people had slyly purchased its shares that all 
lines of trade were crippled. 

Such consequences Walter Bawson had not been slow 
in foreseeing. The bitter animosity between Rawson 
and his deceased rival was universally known, despite 
a rumor always in circulation that Rawson and Mather 


334 


ON A MAEOTN 


were related iii some indefinite way. Mr. Catesberry, 
of course, was aware that tlie younger man was the 
elder’s nephew, but his testimony about the letter of 
introduction to Richard Rawson, the coldness between 
the two brothers and Walter’s boyish dislike of his 
uncle only confirmed the general belief that a deep and 
relentless hatred, covering some bitter family secret, 
kept them apart. 

When asked about Cotton Mather, Walter only 
sneered in answer ; 

“ I have too much on my mind to keep track of all 
my father’s enemies.” 

Walter Rawson was not known to have been con- 
nected in any way with the National Improvement 
Company. He never had been seen inside its offices, 
and had declined in the most public manner a request 
from its board of directors to lend his name to the syn- 
dicate that placed a part of its bonds abroad ; he ad- 
mitted that he had bought a few thousand shares of its 
stock as a speculation, and that he had believed its 
franchises very valuable ; he never lost an opportunity, 
however, to speak ill of the company’s president. 
Cotton Mather. 

Apparently, Walter Rawson had too many other 
important financial schemes on hand to give much 
attention to the complications growing out of the dis- 
graceful Mississippi business. He really knew nothing 
about his “ blind ” partner’s whereabouts, and though 
he did not believe him dead, could not explain to him- 
self why he had decamped. 


OK A MAUGm. 


335 


Keturning to the poor old miserable whom we left in 
Paris, the narrative of his year at the French capital 
will be read with interest : 

For the first six months he was a close patient at the 
hospital, and had the best medical attendance that 
Europe afforded. Becoming no worse at the end of 
that time, the rules of the institution forbade his re- 
maining longer. It was in vain that he offered larger 
payments to be allowed to stay. 

At the suggestion of an attendant, he rented part of 
a house in a little street, quite near the hospital, where 
lie made arrangements to have treatment. 

The apartments comprised a small sitting-room, 
kitchen, and two bed-chambers. Next arose a greater 
difficulty — the hiring of a servant. Poor old “Monsieur 
Cotton ” (he used to wonder if it would ever become 
necessary to further abbreviate his name !) could not 
exercise much choice in the selection of a man-of-all- 
work, because he had the frankness to read to them a 
entence in French that the interpreter at the hospitals 
had written down on a card for him and coached him 
to pronounce. 

It created a panic whenever read.' 

“ I believe I am a leper !” 

For three days every applicant for the place fled in 
terror, imperfectly as the words were spoken. In more 
than one instance the fugitives left their bundles of 
clothes behind, and never returned for them. On the 
fourth day a diminutive, swarthy-faced, bandy-legged 
fellow applied at the door for the situation. Cotton 


336 


ON A MARGIN 


found, to his intense gratification, that the man spoke a 
few words of English, such as heard among the Lascars 
along the Mediterranean coast. When the greeting 
was slowly pronounced, mostly in English monosylla- 
bles and with elaborate pantomime : 

“I [pointing to himself] want you [pointing at the 
applicant]. I pay muclr [reaching down into his pocket 
and showing a handful of gold]. I am lepre ” — to Cot- 
ton’s surprise the man never moved a muscle of his face, 
hut said, with a shrug of the shoulders : 

“No ca-ra.” 

“Give me your hand, my good fellow,” exclaimed 
Cotton, as he thrust out his palm in the enthusiasm of 
the moment, helieving that his search was ended. 

“ Pardona, monsieur. Ex-cuse-a me.” 

And the queer little hunchback thrust both his hands 
into his pockets, eyeing the palm of his prospective 
master suspiciously. , 

“What your name ?” asked the American, with con- 
siderable pointing, and explanation in words not found 
in the hunchback’s vocabulary. 

“Name? Jacques.” 

“Jack. All right. How much ?” 

Holding up both hands, with the thumbs and fingers 
extended, the swarthy fellow said : 

“ Dix francs^ alia week.” Then he opened and shut 
his fingers again. 

“Ten francs I Why, man, I ’ll give you twenty — a 
Louis,” exclaimed Cotton* showing him a shining Na- 
noleon, GroAving enthusiastic and thoughtless, he con- 


ON A MARGIN 


337 


tinned: “My check is good for a million. My name 
is ” 

“No ca-ra, monsieur.” 

“ Moo-seer ?” 

The poor old merchant turned pale. Even Jacques 
had tampered with his name, and shortened it. 

Witliout further parley, or any indication that he 
understood a single part of the contract beyond the 
wages he was to receive, the crooked little fellow hob- 
bled into the kitchen, hung up a bundle containing his 
wardrobe, produced an apron from one of his coat 
pockets,, and formally installed himself. 

During the remainder of the time spent in Paris, 
this servant was the constant attendant of the wretched 
old man, who rarely left his rooms. He ran errands, 
cooked, washed the dishes, kept the house in order, and 
fell heir to all his master’s cast-off clothes — which he 
was ordered to burn, but kept and sold. This proved a 
splendid perquisite, for his master never put on an ar- 
ticle of under-clothing a second time. Everything was 
bought in quantities, and when once worn was ordered 
to be destroyed. Such was the course of “Monsieur 
Cotton’s ” life during the second six months. 

One after another, the most eminent physicians of 
Paris critically examined his case, and although every 
attempt at a diagnosis ended with a shake of the doc- 
tor’s head, in only one instance did the practitioner de- 
cline a fee. ^ The learned and famous Dr. Lambonnet 
said, petulantly : 


338 


ON A MARGIN 


“You owe me nothing. I only prescribe for the 
sick.” 

All the physicians agreed that nothing could be done 
for the patient, and several experts suggested that he 
had better return to the United States. 

Cotton was undecided what they meant, and, conse- 
quently, knew not how to act. He kept himself as well 
informed as possible about American affairs. The 
faithful Jacques procured the Hew York newspapers 
for him regularly, at a kiosk on the Boulevard, near the 
Place de P Opera. 

The hopeless old man’s only source of amusement 
during those dreary months was a telegraph apparatus, 
which he had purchased in the small shop of a dealer 
in second-hand goods. He had taught himself the use 
of the sound instrument during his leisure at “The 
Willows,” years before, encouraged thereto by Profes- 
sor Morton. In Paris, he rigged up a battery, and 
having connected the kitchen with the sitting-room by 
a wire he entertained himself for hours by sending mes- 
sages to imaginary friends in the rear room. Jacques 
felPinto the spirit of the diversion, and was soon able 
to respond to the calls which his master made for 
water, warm bricks, pills, coffee, newspapers, or shoes. 

One day he sent out commissionaires, summoned a 
half dozen of the best physicians together to a consul- 
tation. They united in giving him a long certificate 
which he could not read, as it was in French, but which 
he understood to convey the doleful intelligence that his 
disease could not be unseated by any medicine known 


ON A MARGIN 


339 


to science ; be was verbally advised to seek change of 
air and climate. This certificate, which he carefully 
tiled away among his papers, cost him 5,000 francs ; 
but he never knew its contents. 

This inquisition set him to thinking. He recognized 
the fact that Ris malady had not made noticeable 
progress. Suddenly the impulse seized him to return 
to New York. But how could he explain his absence ? 
He was given up for dead. Then why not allow the 
world to believe so ? Go he would, and hide himself 
amid the loneliness of bustling, busy New York. 

More careful of the fate of others than when, in his 
half-frenzied state, he had crossed to Bordeaux in the 
midst of nearly one hundi’ed fellow steerage passen- 
gers, he decided to charter a small schooner at Havre 
and set sail at once. This he did, and with his faithful 
valet reached New York after a month’s tempestuous 
voyage. Stopping at Quarantine, he paid off the cap- 
tain and proceeded at once to the city by the Staten 
Island ferry. Ilecognition was liardly possible, as he 
knew very few persons in New York, and, besides, 
the removal of his massive beard had greatly changed 
his appearance. 

Where to locate himself had been his constant thought 
during the ocean voyage. Ilis fancy had finally fixed 
on a lofty bit of ground overlooking the Harlem, near 
High Bridge. He repaired directly to Tremont, a 
noi’Si.ern suburb of New York, and applied to the first 
house-agent he could hear of. There he learned to his 
great joy that an old residence, high above the river 


340 


ON A MARGIN 


and on the northern bank, was iin tenanted and for rent. 
The property was visited at once in the agent’s com- 
pany, and the old man was delighted. It was just the 
place for him. The house was old and badly out of 
repair, but the rooms in the second story were dry and 
clean. This served his purpose, for he' did not expect 
to entertain any visitors. The dwelling faced the road 
to Jerome Park and stood in the center of about ten 
acres of ground, surrounded by a stone wall on all sides. 

Paying a year’s rent in advance, he received the keys 
and took possession. 

It was a queer old house, and had been built long 
before the city had spread out north of the Harlem. 
Urtiinage was furnished through an undergrouml con- 
duit nearly a foot in diameter, leading from a corner of 
the cellar down hill to the Harlem river, about eight 
hundred feet distant. Jacques made the discovery one 
night by linding a lot of water-rats eating the vegeta- 
bles. The fact was communicated to the master of the 
house, but he treated the information very lightly. 

One of Cotton’s first acts was to purchase a large 
battery and to wire off the house with electric bells. 
Burglar alarms were placed on all the doors and win- 
dows, so that the master could keep track of his ser- 
vant’s movements. He employed much of his time in 
telegraphing messages to imaginary brokers. As at 
Paris, this was his only means of mental diversion. 
He read the papers carefully, and studied the possibili- 
ties of the stock market just as if he were interested in 
it. Thus the long winter passed. 


ON A MARGIN 


341 


During the early part of the spring, the existence of 
the old drain to the river suddenly recurred to him one 
afternoon, and after his custom he mentally elaborated 
the idea thus : 

‘‘ AVhy cannot I open telegraphic communication with 
Walter ? But it must be in such a way that he cannot 
find me ; I cannot have him see me in my misery. It 
can be done. The old drain communicates with the 
river. In a stream a wire soon hides itself in the mud 
so that it cannot be taken up. I ’ll reach him ; I will 
stand beside him to the end.” 

- In a close carriage Cotton visited a mar:i’facturer of 
telegrapliic supplies near Trinity Church, and in a 
week had made and stored in his cellar a quarter of a 
mile of half-inch cable. He supposed it could be pushed 
through' the drain, but he found that impossible. 
Jacques came to the rescue. He set a trap, and in an 
hour had caught a large water-rat. Procuring a ball 
of strong cord, one end w^as fastened about this rat’s 
leck, after which the animal was started down the 
Irain. The rodent made such remarkable time that it 
w^as with difficulty the line was paid out rapidly enough. 
Jotton stood at the mouth of the drain, which was out 
)f water at low tide, and, killing the animal as it 
emerged, secured the clew line. This he carefully tied 
lo a stone, which he buried in the mud. On the next 
lark night a heavy piece of rope was drawn through 
the drain from the house outward, and a windlass hav- 
*ing been extemporized in the cellar, the cable, which 
lad been coiled up on the grass near the riyer, was 




342 


OiV A MARGIN. 


drawn up into the building. The other end of the wire 
was loaded into the stern of a small boat that had been 
hired for the purpose, and was paid out across the 
narrow stream to an old wharf, under which it was 
attached to a beam just above high-water mark. Ke- 
yurning to his own shore. Cotton carefully buried the 
cable about three feet under the sand at the culvert’s 
mouth, piling heav}^ stones upon the place. Every- 
thing was cleared up by daylight, and no traces of the 
light’s work remained. 

The next day Cotton dropped a brief note to Walter 
Bawson. It read as follow^s : 

“ If you will connect one of the dead wires in the 
cable box below High Bridge with the end of a small 
cable to be found under the old wharf on the right, you 
will be able to communicate with your partner and 
friend ; but it is to be understood that you are not to 
try to ascertain his whereabouts.” 

Eawson, in his position as principal stockholder, and 
as a director of the great telegraph company, had only 
to ask that a dead wire running out the Boulevard 
be turned over to him, to secure it. He then had a di- 
rect connection made with his office, and dispatching a 
trusty workman to High Bridge, the end of the cable 
from the river was soon carried directly into the box. 
There it was bent on to the dead wire, and direct com- 
munication was thus opened between Cotton’s room 
and Eawson ’s private office. The line was less than 
eleven miles long, and, measured by the tangent gal- 
vinometer and rheostat, a resistance of 120 ohms was 


ON A MARGIN. 


348 


found on the wire. Cotton calculated, carefully, that 
two relays of 150 ohms each and two low resistance 
sounders, of say 50 ohms each, would make a total re- 
sistance of 520 ohms. This being the fact, a fifteen-cell 
battery would be more than sufficient to operate the 
line. 

As it was desirable, however, to forestall any curi- 
osity on the part of his friends to find him, and to pre- 
vent them from looking for him so near home, he 
employed a thirty-cell battery, and increased the resist- 
ance of his relay to six hundred ohms. This, he 
reasoned, would give the impression that the line was 
at least fifty miles long. 

The first greeting between the two men after their 
long separation was very warm. Ko names were ever 
mentioned, for Rawson had to employ the services of 
his confidential operator, not being able to read by 
sound. 

Cotton had sent him by mail an elaborate code 
but it was rarely used, so complete was Rawson’s confi- 
dence in his operator, and their mutual trust in the in, 
violability of the private wire. At Cotton’s express 
command, all knowledge of his return to life was kept 
from Mootla. Her grief for her benefactor was con- 
stant. , 

“He was always good to me,” she said. “Mine 
was the happiest childhood a girl could possibly 
know.” 

A change in Walter Rawson’s- manner was observa- 
ble immediately. He had felt an obligation to be cau- 


344 


ON A MARGIN. 


tious in his use of the millions in the blind pool until 
the mystery regarding his partner’s disappearance was 
in some rational manner cleared away. Now that 
Cotton was somewhere at which he could-be consulted, 
however indefinite that place might be, Rawson became 
bolder, and, if possible, more reckless in his speculation 
than ever before. 







CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE POLONAISE. 

During all those months in which the sagacious 
Congressmen had been giving their exclusive attention 
to the Nation’s majestic watercourse, and the civilian 
members of the political estate had been buying its 
stock certificates, the real traders in Wall Street had 
undertaken the development of the railroads of the 
South and Southwest. They declared that the future 
had little promise for any line of rails that did not feed 
this vast and undeveloped section of the country. “ The 
Gulf ports are to be the future seats of commerce,” 
said they. 

Mobile, a deserted city with grass grown streets, 
awoke with a start and began a new career on the in- 
fusion of the warm blood of northern capital. Claims 
in behalf of her commerce reappeared in the annual 
River and Harbor Bill. Other ports on the Atlantic 
were not slow in imitating Mobile’s example. 

A mad rush to buy Southern railroad stocks followed. 
It was led by the very class of men who had hugged 
themselves for their shrewdness in resisting the temp- 
tations of the National Improvement Company. This 
was the only class that had not come to Raw son’s net 
heretofore, and he saw at once that opportunity had 
favored him. 

He hurried away to the South. Small and disjointed 

‘345 


346 


OJSr A MAUGm. 


sections of road were purchased or leased at nominal 
rentals — consolidated, welded together by new links of 
rail — and soon grew under llawson’s magic touch into 
gigantic “systems.” Tlirough cars were in a few 
months running from NewYork to New Orleans. Other 
trunk lines connected Norfolk, Charleston, Savannah 
and Louisville with the metropolis of the Gulf. The 
national capital, Washington — that Federal city which 
had seen the dawn of this new prosperity — was not 
overlooked. 

Walter Rawson shunned no responsibility for the 
prevailing financial craze. Had he not warned all who 
sought his counsel that the Mississippi Improvement 
was a fraud ? Certainly he had, though Cotton and 
he kept in a strong box at one of their own safe depo- 
sit vaults nearly fifty millions in money which had 
been received from the sale of the “ National’s ” stocks 
and bonds. He did not fear to defy the general drift of 
the market by raiding Northern railway shares wwen- 
ever the impulse seized him. He would send his well 
known lieutenants upon the floor of the exchange and 
openly sell down the securities of the companies in 
whose boards he sat as a director. His newspapers 
were employed to attack the credit of the most stable 
corporations of the land, which he branded as worth- 
less property only forty-eight hours before an eight or 
ten per cent, dividend was declared. With equal un- 
scrupulousness, Rawson would cause his morning chan- 
ticleer to announce prospective stock allotments the 
day before his directors met and “passed” all divi- 
dends for a year. After a few weeks, or months, it 


ON A MARGIN. 


34t 


would be discovered that profits had been earned and 
the division would be made to the owners of record on 
the day the registration books were closed. Everything 
Rawson touched was as a shuttlecock in his hands. 
He assaulted the members of the political estate every 
time any of them re'appeared in the market. They 
rarely ventured on the “ bear ” side of the fence, for 
they were “bulls on the country.” Some of them had 
by this time attained the dignity of State Governors, 
others of city “bosses,” still others of retired states- 
men ; but they all went into the ditch together. The 
millions they had amassed during the Civil War by * 
“discounting the dead ” and “coppering the Govern- 
ment ” were torn from them. Among the professional 
heroes a few intended victims had escaped. An appeal 
to their patriotism now rallied them for another grand 
charge. RaAvson proposed to make it a Balaklava 
dash from which they would never return. The bugle 
sounded : » 

“ To New Orleans, as the eagle flies !” 

For this hour there had been weeks of preparation. 
Through channels ensuring the widest publicity it had 
been given out that Rawson Avas about to “lift the 
market.” “ All Southern railway shares are too low,” 
were the Avords ascribed to him. “New Orleans 
Trunk line is the best buy on the list.” 

This information AA^as worth a mascotte, or a philoso- 
pher’s stone ; and the number of persons Avho had it 
imparted to them “confidentially” one afternoon was 
not feAV. That all the town might see him, RaAv- 
Bon showed himself that evening at the opera, where he 


^48 


ON A 3IARGLN. 


owned a box, but rareW occupied it Mignfxa ” was 
sung. Tlie cast was a great one, airj included Campa-* 
nini, Del Tueiite, Cary, Marimon, and Gerster. 

Walter Kawson was passionately fond of the opera,, 
especially Ainbroise Thomas's music. He knew every 
number in ‘‘Mignon,” but on this night Marimon sang 
the polonaise at the end of the second act so charm- 
ingly that the music of that theme fastened itself upon 
his mind. He drove home in his coupe, humming it. 
The polka vibrated through his dreams, and the first 
words to reach his lips in the morning were “ lo son 
Titania."''’ He carried the theme down-street with him, 
and in the half-hour that preceded the opening of the 
Stock Exchange he unconsciously returned again and 
again to the pretty air. 


Tempo de polacca. 


^ — L* — — ^ — ^ 


lo S071 Ti-ta « ni - a la Mon - da ; son Ti- 
I'm now Ti- ta - nia, fair, en - tranc - ing, Air - y 



ta - ni - a jig 
daugh-ter of the 


sol dd sd. Vopel 

light, . . the light. Thro’ the 



-tm o tm— - 




mon-do ognor bal- da e O', 
world I go e’er gai - b 


'io - C071 - da, Pin lie - ve 

gai - ly danc - ing. More swift - ly 



deir au- gel che Va-er fe7i dea-vol. 

than the bird that up • ward takes her flight. 





Olf A MAROm 


349 


There ^vas not a man in the world except his partner 
who really knew what llawson was going to do, though 
a thousand thought they did. 

This day really belongs to the history of speculation, 
for the reason that it marks the introduction into stock 
operations of the hired dacqiier. Rawson had sent out 
his small army of “point ” givers, who, as soon as the 
Exchange opened, swarmed among the offices of Broad 
and New Streets like flies. Casually dropping in on 
one broker after another, they offered a hint there and 
essayed a prophecy here. All of these useful tools of 
the great schemer were working in perfect good faith. 
That’s the beauty of the system. They were not paid 
in any direct way, except that now and then they were 
allowed to make a few hundred dollars in some pool 
organized for their benefit and for wliich Rawson gen- 
erally furnished the capital. The honor which was re- 
flected on them by the supposed possession of Rawson’s 
confidence amply compensated them. There is the 
same feeling of satisfaction at being able to name the 
winner in a horse-race or the candidate at a political 
convention that there is in giving a sure “ point ” on 
stocks. 

Rawson had introduced this pretty detail into the 
business. He had learned it under the bright tuition 
of Adolphus Dobell, who had a habit of sending himself 
bogus telegrams, conveying information just the oppo- 
site of what he intended to act on. Dobell had discov- 
ered that such information always leaked out over the 
wires or through his own office. Thus had the fine old 


S50 


ON A MARGIN. 


gentleman, in more than one instance, been able to get 
largely “ short ” at the top of the market. There was, 
to be sure, much lying connected with such work ; but 
he had consoled himself with the reflection that it w^as 
other people and not he who told the falsehoods. As 
Rawson knew, however, better than anybody else, the 
clerks in Dobell’s own office had scented out the scheme, 
after getting their fingers burned badly several times, 
and by acting on the side contrary to that indicated, 
had virtually had a “put” on their employer in every 
speculation that he rigged in that way. Rawson’s 
professional “point-giver” was therefore a step in ad- 
vance of Dobell’s method. It was the coming shadow 
of the open marketing of “ puts,” “ calls,” and “ strad- 
dles ” since introduced. 

The men selected for this work were generally asso- 
ciated in an undefined manner with the large railroad 
corporations, such as clerks on small salaries, but often 
without desks or title in their own offices. These per- 
sons were mostly young men of good manners, fairly 
well dressed, and possessed of a large and miscella- 
neous circle of acquaintances. 

On this bright crisp morning the talk in twenty of 
the most popular brokers’ offices on the Street was all 
pitched in one key. To condense twenty conversations 
into one paragraph, it was said : 

“ Rawson has been buying ‘New Orleans’ for a 
month. He is going to ‘ boost ’ it to-day. It is about 
to declare a fifty per cent, scrip dividend — but don’t 
mention what I tell you.” 


01^ A MARGIN. 


351 


For once rumor was apparently correct. By eleven 
o’clock there were half a dozen brokers^ directly 
associated Avith Rawson, on the floor of the Exchange, 
bidding for New Orleans at the market price. Little 
stock was offered, hoAvever, because of the stories 
floating about the room. This hesitation on the part 
of the holders of the stock was soon followed by a 
torrent of orders to buy at a quarter, three-eighths, 
and, finally, a half point better. This brought out 
about 6,000 shares of the stock, nearly all of it 
being taken in the most ostentatious manner by 
Rawson’s • own brokers. Bids were then made for 
1,000-share lots at an eighth and quarter better 
than the best of the day, but no ofiers were heard. 
Soon after, one of Rawson’s men added another 
quarter for 2,000 shares, with the result of its being 
sold to him by one of the blind partners of the 
arch manipulator, a broker who had received an order 
through one of his associate houses to sell 2,000 
Orleans in one block, Avhenever 86 was bid. He Avas 
ignorant of the real fact that the man who bought 
was the person Avho sold. 

This “ Avashed .sale,” or rather should we say pur- 
chased ? Avas of such a character that it gave the first 
real fright to the large “short ” interest. Within ten 
minutes there Avas a genuine stampede to buy in stock 
that had already been sold for future delivery at a 
loAver figure. This, independently of Rawson’s in- 
fluence, promptly advanced the price tAvo dollars under 
purchases of 11,000 shares. Of this stock other con- 


353 . ON A MARGIN 

federates of Kawsoii sold the commission brokers 8,000 
shares, all at an advance on the prices of the morning. 

It was not desirable, however, to have all the 
“ shorts ” covered so early. Rawson knew that the bold 
“bears ” in the street had been at least 30,000 shares 
short of Orleans in the morning. To check the stam- 
pede at this point, he had only to let the market alone 
for half an hour. The result was a halt in the advance 
and a reaction of half a point. This had been called 
“ feeling the pulse of the market.” 

In a similar way is the condemned man on the 
scaffold lowered until the medical experts 'can listen 
to the beating of his heart, or thumb the struggling 
arteries. 

So the market was left to itself for a time. The 
“bears” took new courage. Some believed the 
“shower” was over and all hoped they were on the 
right side, after all. There Avere few bold brokers in 
those da 3 ^s, as now. Had there been, Rawson would 
have had less leisure to eat his luncheon during that 
half hour’s masterly inactivity. 

Rawson had foreseen all the difficulties that were 
likely to threaten him. He had taken care that money 
should be plenty, and on the slightest intimation of an 
increase in the interest rate, his banks doled out two 
millions on call loans. Therefore, there was ample 
opportunity for everybody to take “a flyer” in 
Orleans Air Line. 

During the lull, between boards, people compared 
notes, 


ON A MARGIN. 


. 353 


“ What do I think of the market ?” was one broker’s 
interrogatory rejoinder to his customers. “ Why, 

there’s only one thing to think ” and he hurried 

out to execute an order before he committed himself. 

“What is the best purchase?” answered another 
broker in an office across the street. “Well, I never 
advise a customer ; but the people wdio are buying • 
Orleans at 86 so freely must see something good in 
it. Money is so plenty, you know. Did you say 500 
at the market price ?” 

That’s exactly what the customer had said, and it 
was what many an ill-advised man whispered that af- 
ternoon. Bright, clever fellows, these brokers. What 
a pity it is that the stern laws of the Exchange compel 
them to charge one-eighth of one per cent, on every 
transaction, whether their customer wins a fortune or 
loses his last dollar I They never would exact the 
pound of flesh in the latter case were it not for that 
cruel law. And who made it ? Oh, not they ; some 
of their wicked partners. 

The gossip received a new impulse. One speculator, 
more venturesome than the rest, called to see Kawson 
himself. This is what he told : 

“ The messenger who had taken my card inside reap- 
peared, and said, ‘ Mr. Kawson begs that his friend Mr. 
BroAvn will excuse him this afternoon, as he has set 
himself to put the market up.’ ” 

This report, straight from the arch speculator’s own . 
tabinet, spread like wild-fire. Its egotism was wholly 
overlooked, as Kawson knew it \yould be ; but its 


354 


ON A MARGIN 


echoes began to be heard in nearly every office within 
sound of Trinity chimes. They took these forms : 

“ Ever 3 Thing is going up. Money two and a half to 
three per cent. Nothing can check the advance,” 
echo first. 

“The five hundred Orleans you bought an hour ago 
shows $500 profit already. They do say it’s good for 
ten points yet,” echo second. 

“ The scrip dividend has been decided on ; earnings, 
twenty per cent.,” echo third. 

“There is a corner in New Orleans!” ominous and 
appalling echo fourth. 

The man who sells what he doesn’t own quails and 
trembles before the bare suspicion of a “corner” in 
the stock of which he is “short.” 

. Meanwhile the “boom” had re-opened. Starting again 
at 85|^, it was scarce at 89 in twenty minutes. Rawson 
had bought 23,000 shares, mostly from himself, and 
had sold 17,000 to other people. Despite the trifling 
reactions that followed, he contrived to market all the 
long stocks which he had started with in the morning. 
Now, it only remained to put the general market a 
point or two higher to bring in “ the great public” and 
the last of the “shorts.” Under ordinary circum- 
stances, he would have preferred to wait yet another 
day, but on this occasion it was imperative that the 
course of the stock should be run before the Exchange 
closed. Rawson therefore caused to be sent out over 
the tape of a local telegraph company he owned the 
announcement that the New Orleans directors had 


ON A MARGIN. 


355 


been summoned to a special meeting at three o’clock. 
This was enough. The traders took hold of the stock in 
earnest. It gleefully bounded to 92 under the buying 
of the “shorts” — a rise of nine points since the open- 
ing of the Exchange. It was easily within liawson’s 
power to liave put the stock to 95, but he realized that 
an advance of exactly ten dollars would bring out 
large quantities of long stock that stopping the rise at 
nine dollars might prevent. But he put the price to 
92, and held it there. Eawson’s recognized buyers of 
the morning were still purchasers whenever the market 
sagged off an eighth or a quarter. Nearly all the stock 
bought by the “ shorts ” to cover their sales was got 
from Rawson. All his actual purchases of the day, 
which were not large, were turned over to them. He 
then went “ short ” of the market himself, beginning at 
92, and sold Orleans at every possible opportunity. 

The day was one of great excitement on the floor of 
the Stock Exchange and in the street ; but let us see 
how Rawson passed the hours. He was in his private 
office, alone. The door was locked, and with his hands 
in his pockets he was walking about the room. His 
was a condition of mind in which he never had been 
seen by any of his friends. It would naturally be sup- 
posed that he was serious, moody, thoughtful. On the 
contrary, he was in a state of boyish exhilaration. He 
whistled, sang — even danced at times. The polonaise 
of “Mignon ” was the theme of his actions, just as the 
course of the stock market furnished the motif . 

The music of the ticker was constantly heard, and 


356 


ON A MARGIN. 


so expert had his ear become that he could read it 
without looking at the tape. He sang for no living 
ears but his — 

“ Or-leans uiiiety, bet-ter right away; 

Swi Ti-ta-ni-a—aA\ the wide world wants it.^^ 

Then, he hummed the rest of the number. Again 
the ticker began to sing, the price of the stock to jump 
and Kawson to accompany it — 

“ Now ’tis a half, O child of light! 

A quar-ter, a-gaiu? No, three eighths! Half. It holds. 

Kawson stepped to the sideboard' and lit a cigar as 
he almost shouted between his teeth — 

“Hurrah! Ti-ta-uia, glad and gay. 

“ Am I right ?” he asked himself, turning suddenly 
to the stock indicator. “Yes, a sale at five-eighths. 
I take it ? No ; they’ve got it, for here ’s 2,000 at 
three-quarters. Steady, look out ! Next sale at a 
half, only a hundred. I feared it. Work of a boy, 
probably. Wrong ; a correction, ‘ 100 at three- 
quarters.’ That’s much better, for — 

“ ‘ Noji Ti-ta-ni-a ’ — give ’em ev’ry share. 

“It’s good for 91 in three minutes. Seven-eighths. 
Quite right — 

“ O ! I have them. Daughter of Light . . .” 

Useless as it appeared, some other slocks were occa- 
sionally traded in. An interval of this kind occurred 
at this point, and a glance showed that the entire 


OiV" A MABOm. 


357 


market was soaring toward higher prices, “ like the 
bird that upward wings her flight.” The delay was 
short. New Orleans reappeared with a flash. Raw- 
son called off* the figures as fast as the machine 
printed them : “ 500 at seven-eighths ; 1,000 at 91 
[rising inflection]. I said it.” Then, humming 
the polonaise once more, Rawson dropped into a 
chair. He tried to sit still. Impossible, for here 
came the rush of the “shorts,” like a whirlwind, 
to cover — a scene which has already been described 
from the better vantage point of the Exchange itself. 
The overworked “ ticker ” struggled to give the trans- 
actions, apparently gorged with figures, letters and 
tape. Ere he could sing it into melody Orleans was 
furiously bid for at 92. 

At sight of that fact, a tremor crossed Rawson’s 
face. Could it be that this stock was really worth so 
much ? Were stronger hands than his gathering it 
up? Had their ears been serpent-licked that they 
could read the future better than he ? 

^ This doubt of his power was momentary ; it passed 
away into the rythm of the polonaise. He saw the 
seat of war- ; in mind, he faced the Long Room ; he 
heard the shouts and felt the jostling crowd 

Can this be Walter Rawson that we see, the 
phenomenally cool, unexcitable man ! ’Tis he indeed ; 
his inmost self that we have studied, not playing a 
part, but surrendering to his natural feeling. He is 
completely himself, only because under lock and key. 

When three o’clock sounded from Trinity church 


358 


ON A MARGIN. 


trading came to a standstill. There was silence in 
Rawson’s room until a knock came at the door. With 
his usual gravity, Walter opened the portal, and his 
chief lieutenant handed him the following : 


[MEMORANDUM.] 

TO SPECIAL ACCOUNT. 


Bought. 

Shares. 

Sold. 

Shares. 

Orleans, 83 @ 91 . . 

22,900 

Orleans, 92 @ 86 . . 

42,660 

Less Acct, “ washed ” 

11,200 

Less actual purchase . 

11,700 

Actual purchase . . 

11,700 

Carried to Short Acct. 

30,960 


Thus had Rawson contrived to get “ short ” of the 
market 30,960 shares of Orleans, the 11,200 in “ washed ” 
purchases, costing no more than the trifling commis- 
sion which one broker exacts of another for transac- 
tions of the kind, namely, $2 per hundred shares. 
The neatest feature about the affair was that the 
market was quoted “ steady ” at the close of the day’s 
trading. 

But, alas, the weather vane would change ere day- 
light. The morrow was to usher in that chilling 
mistral which so often blows suddenly ’round the 
corner of Wall Street into Broad, penetrating to the 
financial maelstrom itself, and known among the 
traders along that coast as — “ A Bear Raid.” 

“Ah, I have discovered the secret,” self-communed 
Walter Rawson, as he locked the brief memorandum 
in his desk. “ Life in Wall Street is set to music, like 


OS A MARGIN. 


359 


the polonaise. One has only to write in a note here 
and there to preserve the harmony. ‘ I ’m Ti-ta-nia, 
fairy queen.’ . . .” 

A moment later he passed out, demure and silent, to 
liis coupe and started homeward. As his vehicle 
turned from Broadway into Fifth Avenue, at Madison 
Square, a feeling of faintness came over him. In an 
open barouche, approaching from the opposite direc- 
tion, sat a woman of wondrously attractive face. 
There was a grief in her eyes unfathomable as an 
abyss. Her gaze was not fixed on anything, she was 
looking into the past. She was alone — forever more 
doomed to be so. Bawson sank back into the 
shadows of the close vehicle, and, pale and trembling, 
raised his hat and remained uncovered while the open 
carriage, with its solitary occupant, moved by fune- 
really. The woman did not see him, though she was 
so close he could look into her face, as he had in his 
dream on the morning of his wedding-day. His was 
“The Salute of the Dead” — a quaint French custom 
that rich and poor, happy and miserable, respect and 
observe. 


CHAPTER XXXTH. 

DOBELL CORNERS HIMSELF. 

Hardly had Rawson reached home before he was 
surprised by a visit from his former employer, 
Adolphus Dobell. It was the first time that gentleman 
had honored Rawson with a call, and, though the 
younger man’s vanity was touched, he was thoroughly 
on his guard. Dobell congratulated him on his success 
during the day in sustaining the Orleans shares, and in 
a burst of confidence, as it appeared, asked : 

“I say, Rawson, are you ‘short’ of Mexico and 
Manitoba ?” 

The younger man looked at the speaker closely. He 
had generally addressed him as “Walter” prior to that 
moment. It did not need a philosopher to perceive 
that the old operator’s game was to raise the younger 
man to his own level in order that he might make an 
appeal to old friendship. In order that the trick 
should be unmasked at once, Rawson replied, in' the 
frankest manner he could assume : 

“No, indeed, Dobell ; not a share.” 

• “ I’m very glad of that, because I am at the head of a 
pool to ‘ corner ’ that stock. The ‘ corner ’ is an accom- 
plished fact already.” 

“ I certainly congratulate you,” said Rawson, dryly. 

360 


ON A MAR 0 IN 


361 


“ Thanks, to be sure ; but — but there is a favor I 
want to ask of you.” 

llavvson was silent, though Dobell stopped to allow 
him to proffer the service in advance. 

“ You know, Rawson,” continued the old speculator, 
“that you were associated with me so long — very 
pleasantly associated — that I can foresee, or think I 
can, what you are about to do ” 

“ Indeed, you surprise me, for I hardly know myself.” 

“ Ah ! liawson, my boy, I am not to be fooled. You 
are going to ‘ jump on ’ the market.” 

“Why, Dobell, you must have dreamed that. It is 
no time now ” 

“Just what I think, Rawson. Exactly my idea. 
Don’t do it. That is,” stammered Dobell, realizing 
that his personal interest had been completely exposed 
by his impetuosity, “I’d wait awhile. - You’ll be able 
to sell ’em at higher figures, much higher.” 

“ Pshaw, Dobell ; I can’t break this market. It is 
too strong for any one man to contend against.” 

“Precisel}" my opinion. The crops are on their way 
East, and the earnings of all the trunk lines will show 
a large increase.” 

The florid style which Dobell assumed was utterly 
strange to him. Rawson read him, as almost any one 
might have done, and understood that Dobell feared 
that a stubborn “ raid ” might discompose some of the 
old man’s associates and endanger the stability of the 
pool. He took the conversation in hand by giving it a 
sudden twist : 


363 


. ON A MARGIN. 


“You say the ‘ corner ’ is certain of success ?” 

“Ob, yes. We have nine-tenths of the entire capital 
stock, and shall secure the remainder within the next 
forty-eight hours. So adroitly has it been bought, and 
so judiciously loaned out that the price has not greatly 
advanced. I attended to all that myself.” 

“ Is it a ‘blind pool,’ and have you personal control 
of the operation ?” 

“Not exactly that far, but its members are all men 
of the strictest integrity ” 

“ Then look out for them. Men of ‘ notorious integ- 
rity ’ are generally frightful cowards in money matters, 
and if it is necessary to save themselves, will ‘ unload ’ 
on you,” suggested Rawson, to draw the old gentleman 
out, concluding with an apology for his audacity in 
volunteering such an intimation. 

“There isn’t a particle of fear,” rejoined Dobell, in 
au uncertain tone of voice that-was far from indicating 
a vast amount of confidence. “ We shall buy all the 
stock ; then we shall buy as much again ; after which 
we shall advance the price to $'250 per share, or 
more.’’ 

“ Certainly, I understand,” said Rawson, rather 
abruptly. He wanted Dobell to comprehend that he 
was no longer a clerk in his office and in need of in- 
struction. “ You will get the road for nothing and 
be paid a premium for taking it?” 

Poor Dobell ! He had begun badly and couldn’t get 
right. Whatever may be the estimate which the 
future will place on his name as a financier, Dolly 


ON A MARGTN. 


363 


Dobell certainly was not a diplomatist. Some of his 
awkwardness, in this instance, may have been due to 
the long acquaintance which he had had with the 
rising railroad magnate, the almost paternal regard he 
felt for the younger man, and the respect whicli he 
imagined the daring broker entertained for him. He 
never had been an acute student of human nature, but 
this was the first instance in which he liad entrusted 
his future, without reserve, to anybody. He blundered 
now, simply because he assumed that he had a right 
to expect fidelity from Walter Rawson. 

A wise man never puts himself in the power of even 
his best friend. It is not business-like — any more than 
singing flat among a congregation of real lovers of 
music is praising God. 

He finally realized that the only way to attain the 
purpose of his visit was to come squarely to the point. 
He said : 

“Rawson, I want you in this pool.” 

“ You are very kind ; there seems to be big money 
in it ” 

“Ho limit,” interjected Dobell. 

“ But the fact is I have so many schemes on foot .of 
a small nature that I am disinclined to go into any- 
thing of that magnitude.” 

“ Still, you will surely consider the proposition ? 
Any personal friends of yours who may get caught in 
the net will be treated leniently,” begged Dobell. 

“ My friends will have to take care of their own 
gills. I can’t go ill.” 


8G4 


ON A M All GIN. 


“ Then yon will agree to wait a few days before you 
attack the market ? Promise me this.” 

“I will.” 

Dobell went home very happy that evening. He 
flattered himself that he controlled the most auda- 
cious mind in Wall Street. His blunder was even 
greater than that, for he was incautious enough to 
boast of his power to a trusted friend, who lost no time 
in having the remark conveyed to Pawson. 

True to his promise, however, Pawson delayed the 
“ hear raid ” on the New Orleans trunk line for a week, 
putting out even a larger line of shorts in a quiet, 
judicious manner, though his brokers were publicly 
buying the stock in very small quantities on the floor 
of the Exchange. .He even “covered” some of his 
maturing obligations at a loss to divert suspicion from 
his real intention. 

Meanwhile tlie Mexico and Manitoba had been ad- 
vanced to $250 bid — $300 asked — and the Street was 
in a whirl of excitement over the discoveiy of the 
“corner.” Every customer in each down-town office 
was blaming his broker for not getting him into the 
rise early. Every certificate of loaned stock had been 
called and not a share was to be had except fcom the 
pool which had its headquarters* at Dobell’s office. 

Pawson had been inactive for a week, as has been 
said. He had looked the situation over carefully, 
however, and had fixed upon the list of persons in 
the pool so nearly that he could have named most of 
them. He thought he knew wherq the weak vessels 


8G5 


ON A MARGIN 

were and the probable amount of their holdings. 
One afternoon, at this time, and within an hour of 
the closing of the Exchange, Dobell hurriedly entered 
Rawson’s outer office and, before his approach was 
noticed by the porter, knocked for admittance at 
the private door. When Rawson opened, Dobell 
almost shoved him aside in entering. The old man 
was pale and haggard. Ills lips were bloodless, and 
his eyes stared vacantly about the room as if to assure 
himself that they were alone. Then he exclaimed : 

“My dear Rawson, I have come to ask your assist- 
ance. We need just one mil-le-on to make the thing 
sure.” 

The facts (which he kept from Rawson, but which 
the alert mind of the latter had already learned from 
the record of sales on the tape) were that Dobell had 
been dreadfully frightened by the sudden appearance of 
several blocks of Mexico and Manito])a, offered for 
cash, which he had been forced to buy at the “corner'” 
price to sustain the market. This had created a sud- 
den demand for money for which Dobell was unpre- 
pared. His credit at the banks was exhausted, and he 
had no alternative but to appeal to his friends, flital 
as that course might be. Worst of all, he suspected 
that his own copartners were false to him. The shares 
were evidently “ long ” stock— for no sane man would 
dare to sell for immediate delivery certificates which he 
did not possess. So he had reasoned ; and in a condi- 
tion almost bordering on collapse he had come to 
Rawson for aid. 


36G 


ON A MAB^/N 


Before the latter had mentally surveyed the situa- 
tion, Dobell added, interrogatively : 

“ You will let me have it, Walter, of course V” 

“ Mr. Dobell, I regret to say that you have applied at 
the wrong place,” rejoined Rawson, coldly. Dobell 
staggered under the blow, but clutching at the back of 
a chair, steadied himself, and backed toward the 
door. 

“ Then you refuse me ! I thought I had only to ask 
you ” stammered he. 

“ The time is very inopportune, that’s all.” 

Rawson bowed him out calmly. 

Then his whole maimer changed. “ Now !” he said. 
He glanced at the clock on his desk. Half-past two ! — 
just thirt}’ minutes left ! He rang his bell, and sent for 
ev^ery clerk in his office. When they came he closed 
the door, and stood with his back against it as he 
said : 

“I want 20,000 shares of Mexico and Manitoba sold 
at ‘best,’ in 500 and 1,000 share lots,-within the next 
twenty minutes. There are four of you. Each man 
must sell 4,000. I will attend to a like amount myself. 
Be sure of your customers, but sell — anywhere down to 
200. Let ’er go !” 

Rawson then stepped to the telephone, called Scratch 
& Heath, brokers for three of the most prominent 
members of Dobell’s pool, and ordered them to sell 
4,000 Manitoba for his account at the market price. He 
did this to create the impression that the Dobell pool 
was throwing its stock on the market. 


ON A MARGIN 


367 


The scene that followed in the Stock, Exchange is 
historical. Ten thousand shares broke the price to 
200, and after the gong struck, “long” stock was 
freely offered at 150. The “ corner ” was broken. 

That night there was a picture of human misery in 
the gallery of life — a veritable masterpiece. Poor old 
Dolly Dobell was found wandering aimlessly about the 
streets of New York in his night-shirt, muttering : 

“On’y a mil-le-on, sir. Oii’y a mil-le-on.” 

A week later he died in a madhouse. 

Promptly upon the heels of the break in the Manitoba 
“corner” began one of the, most memorable “ bear 
raids ” in the history of Wall Street. Loans were 
called in ; money was simultaneously bid up, and 
stocks of all descriptions, Orleans in particular, were 
offered down, down, down. There were no rallies. 
For a month money ranged as high as a quarter of one 
per cent, per day. Every member of the Mexico and 
Manitoba pool was crippled. Every broker’s office had 
its living figures of despair. Men who had hoped for’ 
large profits were already calculating their losses by 
tens of thousands. Occasionally a halt occurred, but it 
proved only a calm before a new attack. Then would 
follow a burst of heavy artillery, succeeded by a general 
bayonet-charge all along the line. Cool and desperate 
men who had answered every roll-call with the words 
“More Margin!” were stabbed to death in the last 
ditch. 

Hope, ever renewing itself, was finally banished. 
The journals that had commended half the stocks on 


368 


ON A MARGIN. 


the list, just before the decline began, now pronounced 
them all worthless. The wise men pocketed their losses 
and took a trip to the country. Others clung to the tape 
and bought for a rise at every halt, only to sell at a 
loss on each new decline. Habitual “bull” operators 
swore they would never deal on the “long” side again, 
but delayed to screw their courage up sufficiently to act 
on their resolution until the bottom had been struck. 
They sold the market, therefore, just as the tide turned, 
only to suffer the mortification of “covering” at a 
round advance. Many of the most experienced oper- 
ators in the street were caught both ways. 

The campaign closed as it had begun, for on the 
evening of the day in which the advance was fairly 
inaugurated Rawson went to the theatre to see 
John S. Clarke in “The Heir-at-Law,” and was 
especially pleased when “ I)r. Pangloss ” remarked to 
his pupil : 

“ Under favor, young gentleman, I’m the bear 
leader.” 

Rawson gave the words an interpretation of his own, 
unsuspected by the author of the farce, but that did 
not alter the humor of the scene. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MUTINY AMONG THE WOUNDED. 

There were two bmidred millions in “ The Blind 
Pool.” The creatures of the political estate were shiv- 
ering under the constant and overshadowing terrors of 
exposure and disgrace, or were miserably suffering from 
the gnawing pangs of acute poverty. Tlieir money was 
gone, and retribution pursued them. Day after day 
the columns of Cotton’s newspapers bristled with dark 
hints and insinuations, intelligible to the wretched 
political demagogues, and interpreted by the public 
with an accuracy that would not have been possible 
before an aggressive crusade had made the secrets of 
Congressional methods known to nearly every voter in 
the land. In this relentless warfare The Cyd(me also 
dealt savage and effectual" blows. It was no part of 
John Burnaby’s purpose to serve the malice of Avretched 
old Cotton. He did not know of his existence in the 
flesh. But Burnaby hated roguery and hypocrisy and 
attacked every man Avho prospered by them, from 
RaAvson,,his former friend, down to the lowest political 
or financial adventurer. 

John Burnaby was exceedingly happy in his home 

life. This was largely owing to the fact that the 

369 


370 


ON A .MARGIN, 


glitter of society did not dazzle Mootla’s eyes, or ob- 
scure her naturally clear judgment. She never sought 
approval of her domestic policy outside her own house. 
She repelled all foreign intervention, after the strictest 
interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine. “The Home 
for its Inmates ” was the key to her philosophy. So- 
cially, she was careful to avoid entangling alliances. 
Mootla Burnaby lived for only two persons, now that 
she believed “good Uncle Cotton” dead — her husband 
and her son. The latter was a chubby bit of humanity 
that knew her voice and gurgled a welcome whenever 
his mother entered the domain of the nursery. Though 
not the palladium of domestic happiness — for an attack 
of colic had convinced even Prince Baby that he held 
a very slender tenure of life — he was the prospective 
heir to The Cyclone. His interests were thoroughly 
guarded by his next friend. He was not left to struggle 
for existence with canned milk and soured bottles. 
One part of the boy’s discipline the young mother per- 
sonally superintended — his diet. She fed him herself. 
Baby Burnaby knew his rights perfectly. He was 
already aware that no part of his father’s grand house 
was too good for him to visit in his nurse’s arms. He 
went about considerably, even drove in the Park and 
saw life, though he was only four months old. 

In an evil hour, Bawson turned his attention to half 
a dozen small brokers whom he had previously be- 
friended, and ruined them “just for fun.” They 
hardly seemed worth the trouble, but Eawson had be- 
come reckless since the day he gazed at poor Dobell’s 


ON A MARGIN 


371 


dead face in his coffin. He sometimes fancied also that 
he heard the appeal for “ On’y a mil-le-on !” 

Among these latest sufferers was Samuel Catesherry. 
Rawson quietly dropped the hint to him one day that 
there was a “corner ” in the stock of the Juan Fernan- 
dez Steamship Company, and that it would double in 
price in a week. Catesherry and his friends tjought all 
they could at par, and saw it drop to thirty cents on 
the dollar without a buyer in sight. 

Catesherry heard Rawson laugh one morning as he 
passed his door. He was vain enough to believe him- 
self the object of the sneer. He became a spy on Walter 
Rawson. For weeks he listened and watched. His 
patience was rewarded. A trifling incident paved the 
way to an acquaintance with Rawson’s private tele- 
graph operator. Catesherry followed the young man 
about for days until an opportunity occurred to ask 
him to drink. In half an hour he had made the fellow 
drunk, and had gained the secret of the special private 
wire that tied Rawson to a richer, brainier man than 
he. But who was that man ? Whither did the wire 
lead ? The poor slave couldn’t tell. Rawson alone 
knew that. Probably a combination of men, for the 
word “we” was often used. Did Rawson heed the 
advice that reached him by this channel ? Yes, in- 
deed. He owed many of his boldest inspirations to the 
unknown power at the other end of the wire. Some of 
the suggestions were so malicious, so full of craftiness, 
that he, the telegraphist, often thought they came 
direct from the devil. Was the person, or persons, far 


372 


OM A MAM GIN. 


away ? Not far. He had tested for distance, and the 
ground end of the wire was not over fifty miles away. 
Catesberry asked to have named an instance of the 
malicious inspiration. Could the telegraph operator do 
so y Certainly. Only a short time ago the mysterious 
unknown had sent the following : 

“ Arrange to have half the money General Moribund 
wants offered him at low interest. Take a mortgage 
on his house for security. Then look to it that he puts 
every dollar he gets into Juan Fernandez.” 

This was then another part of the same infamous 
trap in which he (Catesberry) had been caught. 

Poor Moribund ! A call loan offered at advantage- 
ous terms to take advantage of which a mortgage had 
been given ; the money, directed into a channel fore- 
doomed to loss, gone ; the loan suddenly’^ called, and 
tlie financial ruin of a professional hero was achieved ! 

Were there many such cases ? Yes, hundreds. 

How well did Catesberry nurse his man that day, 
recalling, and turning to account, his own experience 
With the genial William Gilroy. But the poor tele- 
graph operator finally became so stupid with drink 
that he could not talk and had to be got to bed at an 
uptown hotel) When he awoke in the morning and 
realized what he had done, his fidelity for Rawson re- 
asserted itself, and, in his shame and remorse, he blew 
out his brains. 

This rash act gave Rawson quite a shock, especially 
as he could not divine the motive, and was always 
superstitious about unexpected events. He had con- 


ON A MARGIN. 


373 


siderable trouble in filling the dead man’s place ; so, 
taking an expert instructor, he gave his evenings for 
three months to the art of telegraphy. At the end of 
that time he could slowly send and receive a message 
with accuracy. This fact gave him considerable con- 
fidence as it rendered him more or less independent of 
a third person. 

Catesberry nursed his secret with jealous rage. One 
day he met liawson in the hallway of his building, 
and, before tlie King of Wall Street was aM^are of the 
other man’s presence, Catesberry had hurled him out 
of an open window. Fortunately, there was a strong 
awning underneath, down which Kawson rolled to the 
ground, uninjured. 

But, so great was the scandal, that in an hour’s 
time Catesberry found himself the head and the hero 
of an unorganized anti-Bawson faction. He clutched 
the floating wreckage of sentiment, and with astute 
iiscrimination as to his confidants, gathered in his 
room several days later a few of the boldest of Baw- 
son’s enemies. Kone was admitted to the circle unless 
be was smarting under a sense of personal injury done 
lim by Bawson. 

Catesberry unsealed his lips : 

“Gentlemen, our revenge is within reach. This 
nan Bawson is vulnerable ! We can break him.” 

“ The only way we can ever ‘break ’ him is to kill 
Jbim,” said Wilder Joy, whose pale lips still shivered 
with the chill he felt in his heart when he awoke in the 
baggage car on the Hudson Biver Kailroad, and found 


a 


374 


ON A MARGIN 


himself deserted. His grievance, to his mind, was 
deeper than anybody’s. 

“No; we can strike him living,” continued Cates- 
berry. “ I have discovered something.” 

“ What ?” asked a young broker, named Dos Pasos, 
but universally known by the English equivalent — 
“Two Dollars.” 

“ Something that means a fortune for each of us, if 
our common hatred unites us,” rejoined Catesberry, 
calmly, still master of the occasion. 

“Not another of Kawson’s ‘points,’ I hope ?” sug- 
gested Gunwale, coldly. 

“No, a secret; a momentous secret, which I can 
disclose.” 

“ Hush !” — from everybody. Rawson’s familiar step 
passed along the hall, outside. 

“ I have discovered this,” began Catesberry, waiting 
for the full effect on his hearers ; “ Walter Rawson has 
somebody behind him in his venturesome career. It 
may be a skeleton, or the — devil. But, he is not alone. 
He is no longer an individuality. He is in constant 
communication, by private wire, with some more 
desperate man, or men, than he. I believe him to be 
only the agent of some gigantic cabal that wants to 
own the earth.” 

The effect produced by these words was astounding. 
Every man held his breath. Then each person rose, 
instinctively, and made sure that the secret had not 
escaped beyond the circle. Some looked into the 
wardrobe, others under the table, and Wilder Joy un- 


0^ A MAROm 375 

locked and opened the office door to see that nobody 
was listening in the hall. Evidently the secret was 
their’s alone. Old Gunwale was the first to find his 
tongue, and he said : • 

“ I’m ready for anything now, so it hits him hard.” 

“What I am about to propose,” resumed Cates- 
berry, “is a war on Rawson, making use of his own 
weapons. But, first we must know our enemy. We 
cannot fight in the dark. Therefore, I recommend the 
selection of a committee of three from our number to 
conduct the campaign ; and, secondly, the formation 
of a purse with which to hire and pay an expert line- 
man to find out who is at the other end of the accursed 
private wire. Knowing that, it will be a very easy 
matter for us to decide how to act.” 

“ Catesberry’s words seem very wise to me,” ad- 
mitted Gunwale, frankly. 

“ I say $2,000 each for a working capital,” suggested 
Belwar, who hadn’t spoken before. “ I think we 
ought all to subscribe to a pledge of secrecy, in ad- 
dition.” 

The old broker, Gunwale, who had been among the 
first to come to Catesberry’s support, stepped to the 
center of the room, and, in a trice, resolved this in- 
formal conference of twelve revengeful men into a 
deliberate body. He named Wilder Joy secretary, 
probably because he had served the hated Rawson in 
the same capacity. Gunwale’s request for the further 
pleasure of the meeting called forth a motion that the 
special committee of three be chosen by ballot. Cates- 


376 


ON A MARGIN 


berry suggested that the votes be counted in con* 
fidence by the presiding officer, and that the result be 
communicated only to the three persons selected — the 
ballots to continufe until .the committee was filled. 
This was agreed to promptly. 

A check-book was produced and the assessment was 
paid on the spot, the checks being drawn to the chair- 
man’s order. 

The first ballot resulted in the selection of the com- 
mittee, for the chairman soon emerged from an inner 
office with a packet of sealed envelopes. Gunwale 
then said : ' 

“ There has been a very sensible wish expressed here 
thi\t the identity of this committee’s membership . 
should for the present remain unknown to the sub- 
scribers. There are many reasons for this course — 
reasons which it does not need a lawyer to explain. I 
have, therefore, prepared with my own hands twelve 
letters exactly similar in external appearance. Those 
who find only a sheet of white paper in their envelopes 
will rest content that they have escaped a disagreeable 
and responsible duty. The three men whom j'our 
votes have selected will find the fact so stated in their 
envelopes, together with the hour and place of their 
meeting. There they will know each other for the 
first time. When I was a young man I belonged to a 
club, whose favorite amusement was a game known 
as ‘ Follow your leader !’ It developed many a 
strange adventure. Recollection of those days has, 
perhaps, suggested the locality chosen for the first 


ON A MARGIN. 


377 


meeting of the committee. The chief aim is absolute 
secrecy, and it does not seem amiss to test the courage 
of the heroes in this enterprise. I request that nobody 
will open his envelope until he is absolutely alone.” 

Some of the young brokers wdio were disposed to 
regard this mystery as absurd saw that the old chair- 
man was thoroughly serious, and a further word from 
him as to the legal responsibilities of such a conspiracy 
rendered -them equally solemn. 

Catesberry went home. There he brokq the seal to 
his envelope, and read the following : 

To-morrow night ; 10 o’clock, sharp, at tlie middle 
of the dividing wall of the lower Croton reservoir. 
Central Park. No moon. Study this diagram, and be 
careful : 


F 


E I 







D 

A 

C 

4 

✓ 


B 




F 


A— Point in the division wall where you are to meet— about 
ten feet wide. 

B— Side, from which the division wali can be reached most 
readily. 

C D — North and south sections of the old Croton reservoir 
respectively. 

E — Gatehouse and observatory. 

P — Transverse roads through the Park. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

WHY “the three” never MET. 

Catesberry entered Central Park by the Seventy- 
second Street gate on Fifth Avenue. He was anxious 
to be promptly at the meeting-place. The night was 
very dark, and the roads were icy in places. With 
some difficulty Catesberry mounted the slope to the 
reservoir near the point at which the Egyptian obelisk 
now stands. All the trees except the pines and cedars 
were bare of foliage, and the conspirator, from the ele- 
vation at which he stood, could overlook the town. To 
the northward and before him lay the artificial sea 
from which only a low fence separated him. Its waters 
were of inky blackness, and across it the biting, frosty 
air blew briskly. His ear could detect waves as they 
dashed against the revetment of masonry at his feet. 

With considerable trepidation, owing to the dark- 
ness, Catesberry scaled the paling fence, and made his 
way toward the division wall. To his surprise, he 
found it readily distinguishable from the watery waste it 
divided. The wall appeared almost gray b}^ contrast 
with the ink-like pond. He began, slowh", to walk out 
on this partition-wall, conscious that a misstep would 
probably cost him his life. 

What a weird place for such a meeting ! It was in 
378 


ON A MAR O IN. 


379 


keeping with the mystery that Catesherry liad sworn to 
penetrate. The night’s vigil resembled a scheme 
hatched by the AVizard of Wall Street to get his ene- 
mies where they could be disposed of with ease. 

Like all dishonest persons, Catesherry was suspicious 
even of his co-conspirators, and his quick instinct as- 
cribed the choice of such an unheard of locality for 
the place of recognition to the influence of the common 
enemy of mankind. As he cautiously felt his way 
along the top of the narrow sod-covered wall, Cates- 
berry drew a large revolver from his pocket and ran his 
fingers hastily over the ends of the bullets in the cham- 
ber to reassure himself that the cartridges were all in 
place. No railing protected the walker ! Once in the 
water, all hope of rescue would be unreasonable. To 
scale the steep, stony rampart would be impossible. 
Catesherry recalled the death of a watchman during a 
previous winter. The man had drowned just below 
the point at which Catesherry now stood, after frantic 
efforts to save himself by climbing the escarpment. 
When the man’s body was found the ends of the fingers 
were so worn off that the bones protruded. Then 
Catesherry thought of being drawn into one of the 
great water mains that form the arterial system of the 
throbbing city. He recalled a Sunday afternoon’s 
visit to Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, many years 
before. In the act of crossing the bridge that connects 
the pumping works with the mainland, he saw a child 
spring from a woman’s arms over the rail into the 
forebay. He recollected how, without a second thought, 


380 


ON A MARGIN 


he sprang into the water. Clutching tlie infant, he 
regained the surface to find himself in the embrace of 
a current that drew him irresistibly toward the iron 
tunnel carrying the water to the turbines. Death — to 
be ground to pieces among the cog-wheels ! That was 
all he remembered, but when he regained consciousness 
in a hospital he was told that only the prompt action 
of an engineer in closing the water-gate had saved him 
from horrible agony. 

Catesberry shuddered anew. Why had he recalled 
this experience at such a moment ? He felt again the 
clinging, lapping, liquid embrace, the swaying and 
churning of the whirlpools, the resolute suction from 
below, firm, though pliant as the octopus’ grasp. 
He heard anew the grinding of the wheels, he saw the 
phosphorescence in the water before him I What was 
that new sound ? 

It came from the surface of the pond, and — yes, he 
was certain — was the rowing of a boat I Catesberry 
strained his eyes to the northward, whence the noise 
came, but nothing was visible. He thought a moment. 
There was a flat-bottomed craft on the reservoir, into 
which the drift-wood and leaves were skimmed by the 
workmen. But what could the guards be doing at such 
an hour, in such a season ? The boat was near at 
hand. Catesberry sat down on the frozen turf, for the 
phantom oarsman was bringing his craft to the wall at 
his feet ! 

The bow of the boat crashed against the stones. It 
contained only one man, who carefully took in the oars 


ON' A MARGIN 


SSI 

and then climbed forward. He groped for something 
at the bow, apparently the boat’s painter, and looked 
about him carefully. Then he coughed, as if to attract 
attention. Catesberry remained silent. The stranger 
then drew the boat close to the wall, and by a powerful 
spring landed within a few feet of where Catesberry 
sat. lie had only to say, “I’m the first man here,” 
when his voice informed the watcher that Wilder Joy 
stood before him. Catesberry rose and said promptly : 

“ No ; the second.” 

The two men shook hands, though both trembled so 
that they could hardly keep hold of each others’ 
fingers. 

“ I make a very poor conspirator, ’’-said Joy. “But 
I took the trouble to look this place over this afternoon, 
and I saw clearly that I never could walk that long 
‘gangway ’ in the dark. I observed this scow fastened 
to the wall at the north end, and the happy idea oc- 
curred to me of coming across in it. But I don’t want 
to do it again. There are such strange currents and 
eddies in that pool of black water— great vortexes that 
lead the way to underground mains. Ugh ! They 
made m}^ flesh creep.” 

“ It was a clever way to come.” 

“ Oh, I was bound to be here. Isn’t there any sign of 
the third man ?” 

“He has probably backed out,” suggested Cates- 
berry. “ It ’s quite as well. This is not a weak-kneed 
man’s work.” 

“Had he been imposed on as I was, his heart would 




OW A MARGM 


never fail him,” said Wilder Joy, with a deep sense of 
injured innocence. 

“Come, i)ut your broken heart into this work. We 
shall have not only ‘ a tooth for a tooth,’ but his whole 
jaw-bone.” 

“ That suits me.” 

“ I have a plan which we, as a majority of the 
committee, can adopt,” continued the crafty Cates- 
berry. 

“ It must be radical — now, I tell you that.” 

“Radical? Listen. We must tap the wire over 
which Rawson receives his instructions, and have a 
loop carried into a room along the route, known only to 
us. We can then have a ‘ put ’ or ‘ call ’ on him all the 
time. We can capture a million apiece, then ” 

“ Then we ’ll retire.” 

“We are certain of success,” said Catesberry. 

“ But I ’m not so sanguine.” 

“You mean you can’t trust me ?” 

“ I don’t believe in anybody, hardly in myself, any 
longer,” was the reply. “ And besides, how' are we to 
find a workman that can be trusted? We would be 
sold out to Rawson within an hour. You know it. 
The scheme is absurd, after all. I still adhere to a 
plan of my own, which is ” 

“But,” said Catesberry, firmly, his whole manner 
changing, “you forget that there will be another, a 
third party to this conference. Now, taking cupidity 
as it runs, this man will join with me, leaving you out 
in the cold. Do you understand ?” 


ON A MARGIN 


383 


“That is not desirable, I admit.” 

“Very well,” retorted Catesberry, in a mollified 
tone. “Let us come to an understanding. We know 
each otlier, Joy” — he made a mental reservation for 
his companion’s sake, and added the words, “ or think 
we do ”— “ but we cannot tell who the third man may 
be. We can’t name him, until he ‘ shows up.’ There- 
fore, let us organize this committee in our own in- 
terests. The other fellow may control both of us.” 

“I’ll join with you, Catesberry.” 

“ I’m glad to hear you say it,” as the two men’s 
right hands groped for each other in the dark. “We 
can have a blind circuit put on, and nobody else to 
divide with. . We can discuss your plan, whatever it 
may be, and, perhaps, we can use it also. In the few 
weeks necessary to run down our game we can make 
ourselves rich.” 

“You forget that I have very little money left,” 
suggested Joy. 

“ But you can have the handling of the funds in this 
pool.” 

“ I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“You needn’t hesitate to use it. We shall audit 
our own accounts, and, besides, there’s no danger of 
loss.” 

Catesberry did not trust his companion, and was 
already appealing to his cupidity, in the hope that he 
would embezzle from the funds of the pool, so that he 
would be sure of him. He was also fearful that Joy 
might swallow his chiefly imaginary wrongs and go to 


384 ON A MARGIN 

Rawson with the secret. Joy was the only man he 
distrusted. 

Catesberry was inwardly rejoicing that the third 
conspirator did not appear when footsteps werx3 heard 
in the direction of the western wall of the reservoir ; 
then a splash, followed by a horrifying scream for help. 
Starting to their feet, the two men clutched each other 
by the arms. They recognized the voice, but one held 
the other from stirring. Again the cries : 

“ Save me, for God’s sake ! Help ! Il-e-l-p !” 

Already the words grew fainter. The lost man was 
drifting toward the water gates ! 

It was dreadful to let anybody drown tiuis ; but the 
danger of going to the rescue was evident. It com- 
prehended the risk of arrest and trial for a dastardly 
murder. How could Catesberry and Joy rationally 
explain their presence in such a place at this hour of 
the night ? Not so nice in his reasoning, or perhaps 
because his conscience was less seared, Wilder Joy 
made a move as if to go to the rescue, but Catesberry 
frantically restrained liim with the admonition : 

“ Are you stark mad ? He will certainly drown. 
You couldn’t save him. How would you rebut the 
circumstantial evidence that his death was your act? 
Answer me !” 

“ But, it is Belwar.” 

“I know it. All the greater reason why you 
shouldn’t go. A motive for Belwar’s murder is 
already on record against you !” 

• “ Wliat do you say ?” 


ON A MARGIN. 


385 


“ Have you forgotten the New England Bonds he 
hypothecated with you ? And tliat they weie forged ? 
And that he denied the transaction ? And that you 
had to take the loss ? There would be your incentive 
to kill him ! Already I see a light approaching from 
the tower. To try to help Belwar is sheer insanity 
for us.” 

‘‘ Still, it’s horrible to let the man die.” 

“ There are many worse things than death,” was the 
solemn answer. 

“But how are we to get away?” asked Joy, with 
the instinct of self-preservation. 

“ We must go as you came.” 

“ Is there no other way ?” 

“ None.” 

Once more, and for the last time, was heard tin, 
appeal for succor : “ Save me ! Help ! H-e-l-p !” 
Then the wind changed, carrying the fainter gasps 
that succeeded in another direction. 

Instead of these cries were now audible the commands 
of the trained watchmen. 

“ Break into the lodge, and bring the coil of rope at 
the side of the door. Quick, now ! I ’ll go down the 
ladder, and may catch him.” 

Catesberry and Joy listened no longer. They slipped 
down into the boat, and pulled out upon the murky 
water, doubly terrifying now that a fellow-creature w'as 
drowning near by. In their desire to escape,* they 
forgot the noise made by the oars, and pulled away with 
the sole thought of personal safety. They found the 


386 


ON A MARGIN 


landing-stairs with some difficulty, and left the boat 
adrift. The two men at once separated to go in oppo- 
site directions. Catesberry sprang down into the 
transverse road, and his companion hurried across a 
bridge toward the northward. 

At the water-gate of the south reservoir, Belwar’s 
body was found on the following morning. It was 
jammed between the ice-fenders. The newspapers 
drew a sad moral from his suicide, induced, as they de- 
clared, by his recent reverses. They referred to an act 
or two of generosity which he was alleged to have per- 
formed, and glossed over the shameful scandal with 
which his name had been connected. 

The watchman and his assistant shook their heads 
mysteriously. The latter told of sounds of oars heard 
on the reservoir. He also mentioned the fact that the 
boat had been tied up at nightfall and found adrift in 
the morning. But these vague suspicions of foul play 
seemed unimportant to the coroner. 

Belwar’s death was suicide, according to the popu- 
lar verdict. That hypothesis alone could account for 
his presence at the reservoir at night. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 


JUST THE MAN. 

Catesberry emerged from the Central Park into 
Eighth Avenue. He dared not lake a car, because he 
miglit be recognized and by some means connected with 
Belwar’s death. lie must walk home to Fort Wash- 
ington. He made his way to the Boulevard, and two 
hours’ brisk tramp brought him to his gate. Entering 
the house with a latch-key, he stepped into the sitting- 
room to quiet his nerves with a glass of brandy and a 
cigar before going to bed. The windows reaching to 
the floor opened upon a veranda. In the daylight this 
was the pleasantest apartment in the building, over- 
looking the Harlem valley. 

The household was asleep. After taking a deep 
draught from the brandy-bottle, Catesberry threw him- 
self on a sofa to meditate. That he might be wholly 
alone with his thoughts, he arose and turned out the 
gas, after which he lay down again to jBizzle out the 
details of his scheme to grow rich by mastering Raw- 
son’s secret. He was anxious to find a man who could 
be trusted to run down the mysterious wire over which 
the precious information passed. Such persons were 
few, difficult to discover, and even more dangerous to 

confide in. It was essential that the man should be a 

387 


388 


ON A MARGIN 


mechanic who understood the art of telegraphing. 
Catesberry also recognized that it would be impossible 
to prevent him from learning the real purpose for 
which his services were to be used. lie pondered long 
and earnestly, and fmaiiy, overcome with fatigue, he 
fell into a doze. 

A gust of cold air awakened the sleeper, lie could 
hear one of the windows on the porch slowly raised. 
He vaguely saw, in the opaque outline of the opening a 
man about to enter the apartment. Keaching noise- 
lessly under the sofa where he had placed his revolver, 
Catesberry '■‘covered” the intruder fully, and then 
asked : 

“ What are you about there ?” 

“Can’t you see ?” was the rejoinder of the burglar, 
not moving a muscle of his body. “ I am getting in 
the window.” 

“ Do you want to have your head blown ofl’ ?” 

“ That would be a serious loss to me.” 

“Strike a match !” commanded Catesberr3^ 

“ Stop a moment till I get one,” was the answer, as 
the stranger made a movement to stoop under the 
partly raised window-sash. 

“ Hold on ! You’ll make a bad mistake if you try to 
go out.” 

“Don’t let any accident happen.” 

“ Then light the gas at once !” 

The stranger struck a match, found the chandelier, 
and in an instant the room was aglow with light. He 
convinced himself that he was “ covered ” by arevolver, 


OjV a J/ABGm, 


389 


for his acute ear had heard the weapon cocked before 
Catesberry spoke. It was evident that he hoped to 
escape by the door, or intended to overpower and dis- 
arm his captor. The entrapped burglar calmly pro- 
ceeded to look about him ; then he sat down. 

“I’m rather glad you are a fellow of sense,” con- 
tinued Catesberry, lowering the muzzle of his pistol. 

“ You ’re too cool for me.” 

“ Who are you ?” 

“ I ’ll tell you ” — and having previously gathered his 
feet under him, he made a tremendous spring across 
the room and pinned Catesberry to the wall. Before 
he could raise his weapon the burglar had wrested it 
from his grasp, and said : 

“Not a word or you die.” Then he stepped back 
under the light and examined the revolver, muttering : 
“I ’m ashamed of myself for having been afraid of a 
thing like this.” He placed it in his pocket, and drew 
a weapon of more sanguinary character. “ I said I ’d 
tell you. I will. I used to be known as ‘ Sanguine 
Billy.’ ” 

, Catesberry had been completely dazed by the sudden 
turn affairs had taken, but when he heard that name 
he involuntarily sprang to his feet, pale as a corpse, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Not Billy Gilroy ?” 

“Catesberry, as I’m a thief.” The burglar’s sur- 
prise was even greater than the broker’s. He replaced 
the pistol in his pocket. Then, with ludicrous grim- 
mjvces of pain, Gilroy pulled off the false mustache 


390 


ON A MARGIN. 


that covered his upper lip and mouth. He held out 
his hand and Catesberry shook it rather gingerly, 
though he felt greatly relieved at the complete solution 
of the difficulty. 

“You must admit that this is a rather strange way 
to come into a man’s house ?” 

“ I always had odd freaks, you will remember, 
Sam.” 

The man’s assurance was appalling to the broker 
who understood the position he occupied in Gilroy’s 
mind. 

“ Help yourself to the brandy,” said the host. 

“ Y'ou are thoughtful as ever.” 

“ And what has happened since ” he could not 

complete the sentence. Gilroy respected the broker’s 
delicate conscience and explained : 

“ Well, you see, honesty didn’t pay after I gave up 
the chop-house business.” 

“ Honesty was a good policy that time, surely.” 

“ Indeed it was. I say, Sam, did you take out a 
patent on our method of balancing a bad set of 
books ?” 

Catesberry was silent for some minutes, during 
which Gilroy refilled and emptied his glass. The mind 
of the ex-cashier of the defunct Limestone bank was 
wandering far away from the present. He was sud- 
denly recalled to the events of the hour by the sar- 
castic query : 

“So you are not going to call the po-lice ?” 

“ What do we want with them ?” 


ON A MAUGIN. 


891 


“ We’ve no use for the po-lice,” and Gilroys face 
grinned all over. 

Catesherry was suddenly possessed of an idea that 
seemed very opportune. His retrospection had finally 
reached the events in his career immediately preceding 
the sleep from which the entrance of the house-breaker 
had awakened him. He walked the floor a few 
minutes, then he said : 

“ Gilroy, I’m very glad you came.” 

“ You are ?” 

“I have use for you. Indeed, you’re the man of a 
thousand.” 

“ Thanks ” — in a rather uncertain tone. 

“ It is an attractive and remunerative piece of work ; 
there’s even a tinge of romance about it.” 

“ How does it rate — easy, ticklish, or highly danger- 
ous ?” 

“Ho danger whatever, so far as I can see.” 

“ To what class ?” 

“ Oh, the ‘ purely legitimate.’ ” 

• “ Well, I’m out of an engagement, though I hardly 
hoped to make one in this fashion.” 

Catesherry fully unfolded his plan to Gilroy. He 
told him how Rawson — whose name was as familiar to 
the buglar’s ears as to those of every honest man — had 
secret communication with some infernal scoundrel 
who suggested half the diabolical schemes he sprung 
in Wall Street. To sharpen Gilroy’s interest, he told 
him that a purse had been raised to prosecute the 
search for this person, or clique, and that the price of 


39 ^ 


ON A MAJiGiN 


success iu finding the other end of the wire would be 
$5,000. 

“ I’ll intercept the messages, and I’ll find the source 
from whence they come.” 

“ Can it be done ?” asked Catesberry. 

“ Nothing easier. I was once a lineman, and un- 
derstand the Morse alphabet fully.” 

“ How long ought it to take ?” 

“I ought to be able to run the wire down in a few 
days, if the grounding point is anywhere near.” 

“The sooner the better.” 

“ How about expenses ?” 

“ They’ll be allowed.” 

“ Then advance me $500, on account.” 

“ I’ll place it in your hands to-morrow noon, at the 
corner of Beaver Street and Bowling Green.” 

“That’s satisfactory.” 

“ Everything understood ?” 

“ I’m to ‘ cut in ’ on that wire — after I’ve found it — 
and, secondly, to trace it to the end, so that you may 
know who is the power behind the enemy?” 

“Precisely.” * 

“ I’m to do both ?” 

“ One is quite as important as the other.” 

“ All square then. Here’s to success ” — and Gilroy 
filled and swallowed a large glass of cognac. 

“ I have always wanted to ask you why you had that 
woman in the chop-house, next to the bank ?” 

“Woman? What woman?” exclaimed the much 
?3candalized burglar. 


0^ A MARGIN. 393 

‘‘Why the one 3 'our neighbor saw alight at your 
door with her trunk — the one supposed to have been 
shot when the explosion occurred.” 

“ How did 3 ’ou learn this ?” 

“A lady who lived across the street from you gave 
her testimony very fully on 3 'our career in the restau- 
rant.” 

“There wasn’t a woman in the house, all the cook- 
ing was done by ‘the boys.’ But, I thought it might 
appear suspicious that a man like me should live alone 
in a whole house. So, I had one of our partners arrive 
in woman’s garb — he knew well how to wear it. 
Woman, indeed! I wouldn’t have trusted one about 
the place.” He mused for a minute, after which the 
genial burglar continued ; “ And the descent of the 
po-lice was due to a woman across the street ? I had 
a very narrow escape.” 

“ She testified that she sent her father to the station- 
house.” 

“ Heavens, that I could marry her. Revenge has its 
charms, after all.” 

With this regret, so frankly expressed, Gilroy put on 
his hat, replaced the false mustache, and led the wajr 
to the front door. Catesberry saw him depart, and 
then went to bed. 

Gilroy was, indeed, “just the man” for the task 
Catesberry had undertaken. His knowledge of elec- 
trical science was not slight. But his chief availability 
existed in the fact that he had no alliances with the 
great telegraph monopoly of which Rawson was the 


894 OK A MAROiK. 

directing genius. No servant of that corporation could 
have been trusted. 

On the other hand, a previous experience with Gil- 
roy had proved that his word could be implicitly relied 
on. Catesberry had secured his share of the plunder 
from the Limestone bank. This was in recognition of 
the value of the cashier’s services, which, under the 
circumstances, were unquestionable. So thoroughly 
had Catesberry informed Gilroy regarding the precise 
location of each class of securities that every dollar’s 
worth of convertable paper was taken and all the un- 
negotiable securities left. Had it been necessary to 
sort over all the drawers and boxes in the fireproof of 
the Limestone bank to secure the valuable plunder, 
Gilroy and all his gang would have been captured by 
Captain Churchill. It was Mutli deep-seated feelings 
of mutual confidence, therefore, that these two rascals 
laid their heads together for this new enterprise. 

It may have been that Gilroy had other thoughts 
when entering upon this wmrk. It may have revived 
in his spare mind and not over-scrupulous conscience 
memories of a reasonably honest life and of wages that 
represented labor. 


CHAPTEE XXXYII. 

TOO “sanguine” by far. 

The more Gilroy pondered over Catesberry’s scheme 
the more easy of accomplishment it appeared. 

His first move was to rent a small unoccupied room 
at the rear of the fourth floor in the Broad Street build- 
ing containing Eawson’s offices. This was readily 
done by becoming an architect for the occasion and 
paying good Janitor Tidd a quarter’s rent in advance. 
Into this office Gilroy moved two desks, a table, and a 
drawing-board. The walls were hung with several old 
maps, which he had purchased, with the furniture, at 
an auction-room. A small and modest sign on his 
door completed the fixtures. So frequently did his 
business call him into and out of the house that in a 
few days he was acquainted with the habits of every 
person in the building. He even obtained a look into 
Eawson’s private office late one afternoon as the janitor 
was cleaning it. 

On a small table, near a wundow looking out into a 
court, he saw a sounding instrument, but from a 
switch-board directly before it ran ten wires. These 
lines emerged from the room at thg top of the window, 
and, as he subsequently discovered, ascended along the 

wall of an open court to a large fixture on the roof. 

395 


ON A MARGIN. 


S9G 

This was his starting point. First of all, however, 
he made sure that none of these wires operated the 
stock-telegraph machine by tracing the four wires 
therefrom into and ont of the house b}" way of the front 
hall-door. A glance Imd shown him also that any one 
af these ten wires conld be switched into or ont of cir- 
cuit. The next thing to l)e learned Avas how many 
were “ dead ” and how many “ live ” wires. This conld 
only be ascertained by visiting the housetop, and he 
must achieve that feat without the knowledge of 
Janitor Tidd. 

Gilroy walked down the block toward Beaver Street, 
and, making bis Ava}^ to the top of a bouse in the row, 
clambered over tbe roofs to BaAvson’s building.” 

Going directly to the large fixture from Avhich all the 
Avires radiated, his first act Avas to carefully mark each 
of the lines. He then tested for batteries in the hope 
of finding AA'hich AAure AA’as in nse. Trying the. first, he 
found it “live ” — an electric current Avas passing on it. 
For an instant be congratulated bimself tba.t he had 
found Avhat he Avanted by sheer accident. Inadvert- 
antly be applied bis tongue to the second Avire and 
found that it Avas in use likeAvise. Then he tried all 
the Avires, and found eA^ery one of them “afiA^e.” Each 
line must be traced to its end. 

Gilroy lost no time. lie started at once with No. 1, 
wliicb crossed to a bigb building on the corner beloAv. 
Gilroy descended to tbe street, and after a beated dis- 
cussion with a janitor’s wife, readied tbe housetop. 
(Why was it, he wonderecl, that Avomen were alwa 3 ’’S 


ON A MARGIN. 


897 


suspicious of him ?) He carefully examined the fixture 
to which the wire was fastened, and, to his amazement, 
found that the insulator which carried it was connected 
with another on the same beam by a covered wire, so 
neatly put in as to defy anything short of a careful 
scrutiny. Thence the wire returned directly to the top 
of the very building he had left — becoming Xo. G. 
Going hack to his own house and gaining the roof, by 
the hazardous means of a skeleton key which he had 
made to the attic-door, he found (what had escaped him 
on his first inspection) that this wire was neatly 
“ grounded ” on a lightning-rod. 

The troops in Flanders would have stood aghast at 
his language. A whole working day had been wasted, 
and the status of only two wires had been settled. 

The following morning he began earlier. Selecting 
wire Xo. 2, he followed it three miles up Broadway 
only to find that it came to an abrupt end. Do what he 
would, he couldn’t find any “‘grounding” point, 
though he persevered for a week — climbing every pole 
along the route, directly before the eyes of several 
of “the finest policemen in the world,” who had 
known and ought to have recognized the former pro- 
prietor of the Limestone restaurant. 

A month’s zealous labor resulted in tracing six of 
the remaining wires to various points. One went to 
an up- town hotel, and was “ grounded ” on a gas fixture 
at the front of a third-story halcoii}^ — what is called “a 
pony wire.” After ten days’ labor, another was traced 
to the Harlem river, where it entered a cable-hQx, into 


398 


ON A MAR O IN 


which he could not penetrate. Search for this wire 
among those that emerged from the corresponding box 
^n the Mott Haven side failed to discover it. Could it 
be that this was a loop line like that first detected ? 
Still another wire ran to the main office of the United 
Uncle Sam Telegraph Company, and was represented 
by a pee: and series of holes on the monster switch- 
board in the top story of the gigantic building owned 
by that corporation. Three of the wires communicated 
with other brokers’ offices, and appeared to be very 
little used. 

The tenth and last wire crossed to Brooklyn, only to 
double on itself and finally to end in a newspaper 
office. At the latter place Gilroy made the surprising 
discovery that the wire from Bawson’s office to the 
Uncle Sam Telegraph building formed a loop, which, 
by the turning of a switch, could be made a part of 
any one of the main lines, over which the most con- 
fidential business communications w^ere passing. 

Bold burglar as Gilroy was, he was unprepared for 
this revelation. He comprehended the preparations 
that Kawson had made, and the fabulous resources at 
his command for fleecing the public. More than this, 
U showed him the difficult task the men had under- 
taken who set out to circumvent Rawson ; yet it im- 
measurably increased his zest for the undertaking. 
There is pride in all trades. But, up to that hour, he 
had accomplished nothing — a circumstance which w'as 
greatly taxing the patience of his employers of the 
cabal. Gilroy grew desperate, and more resolute than 


ON A MAIiGIN 


391 ) 


ever. He had not yet fingered the reward which he 
had been promised for liis services, and the prospect 
of success did not seem altogether flattering. 

Locking himself up in his office until the building 
had been closed for the day, Gilroy waited until the 
janitor’s family had descended to the street to hold the 
regular evening levee on the front steps. Then, avail- 
ing himself of his key to the attic, he again made his 
way to the roof, provided with a full kit of tools and a 
coil of line, covered copper wire. There was no way 
out of the difficulty except to put loop-lines on each of 
the suspected wires. 

It was a bright moonlight night, and Gilroy went to 
work with a will. Using a brace and bit he drilled a 
hole through the brick into a disused chimney that 
passed down the wall at one side of his room. With a 
pair of vises and tackle roven through double blocks, 
he took up the slack in the wires and each one was 
“cut out” of the down-stairs office, lie made “a 
glass connection.” The wire appeared to be properly 
lapped around the insulator, but, in reality, the two 
ends were separated by half an inch of glass. In thirty 
minutes’ time his expert hands had inserted a loop of 
the fine, covered wire in each broken line. These 
wires he carried along the top of the large fixture in 
small staples, and down the upright beam in a deep 
groove which he furrowed out and filled with putty, 
colored like the paint on the wood. The bundle of 
small wires, all properly marked at the extremity of 
each loop, was then twisted into a cable, which was 


400 


ON A MARGIN. 


hidden under the combing of the housetop and pushed 
into the chimney through the hole in the bricks until 
it reached below the level of his office floor. 

This task occupied him all night ; but when he con- 
templated his work in the early light of day Gilroy was 
satisfied that detection could only result from careful 
searchl Descending noiselessly before the janitor was 
astir, the ends of the loops were brought into his room 
through an unused stove -hole, back of a desk. The 
interior of that imposing piece of furniture contained 
Beven sound-instruments, all carefully muffied with 
chamois skin, and it was only the work of a few 
minutes to make the connections through the wood- 
work of the desk’s back. 

Gilroy was busily engaged when the door of his 
room was tried by some one outside. For a moment 
the future trembled in the balance. Gilroy was not 
sure that he had pushed the bolt. 

The danger passed, however, for it was only careful 
old janitor Tidd making his early round. Gilroy knew 
that detection by the janitor would have meant ex- 
posure, for the old servant was entirely devoted to 
llawson. Catesberry had told him that Rose’s first 
boy was named Walter RaAvson Cole, and that the 
child had the proceeds of a small “turn” in stocks 
standing to his credit in a saving’s bank. 

That day was a momentous one for the conspirators. 
It revealed to Gilroy (what the reader already knows) 
that the wire leading to Rawson’s mysterious adviser 
>vas the one he had followed to the Harlem river, only 


ON A MARGIN. 


401 


to lose all traces of it beyond. It was quite evident 
that this unknown, wherever existing, felt sure of 
absolute privacy, for very few cipher words were 
employed in the messages. 

The long-sought means of getting riches was within 
his grasp, and Gilroy did not doubt that his employers 
would be fully satisfied with half a success that pro- 
mised such rewards. Not an hour was lost in putting 
Catesberry and Joy in possession of the secret in- 
formation. The success of the anti-Eawson cabal for 
nearly two months was marvellous. From small be- 
ginnings, nearly a hundred thousand dollars was 
accumulated by Catesberry and his confederate. The 
other parties to the cons])iracy were clamorous to 
know the progress of the chase, but they were put off 
with misleading statements. The two custodians of 
the secret were unduly elated with their achievements. 
Their good fortune suddenly changed. They began to 
meet witli reverses, though they followed “ the wire’s ” 
advice. Adopting the gambler’s trick of “doubling 
the stakes ” after every loss, Catesberry and Joy boldly 
strove to recoup themselves. But disaster after dis- 
aster overtook them until all their available assets 
were exhausted. Not till then did they realize that 
they had been detected. 

Cotton Mather was one afternoon perplexed at the 
way his relay worked. Without any definite suspicion, 
he got out the galvinometer to test the strength of the 
current. To his surprise, he found that there was an 
increased resistance of nearly 200 ohms, bringing the 


402 


ON A MARGIN 


total above 700 ohms. It did not occur to him, at 
first, that anybody had tapped the line. He ascribed 
the defect to some bad bit of insulation, and asked 
Rawson to have a man go over the wire. 

This request, which Gilroy heard, gave the elec- 
trician of the conspirators a terrible fright, and he 
closed his office the following day that he might 
watch the line inspector. He soon saw that his 
fears were unduly great. The same workman who 
had originally run the wire was sent for. He did not 
bother to go to the top of Rawson’s building, so cer- 
tain was he that nothing could have gone amiss there. 
So, after Gilrgy had followed him a few blocks, he re- 
turned to his room. 

When the result of the inspection was reported to 
Cotton Mather he was not satisfied. Gilroy, boldly 
asking at what hour a galvinometer . test vmuld be 
made, “cut out” his relay during its progress, and 
for a few days the hermit forgot the incident. Dur- 
ing that time one of the largest and most successful 
“scoops” was manipulated, greatly to the profit of 
Rawson and his “blind ” partner, and, of course, the 
secret clan. One night it occurred to Cotton Mather to 
try an experiment. It could do no harm, and might 
settle his suspicions. He sat down and wrote a brief 
note to Walter Rawson, running as follows : 

“After to-morrow (Tuesday) until the end of busi- 
ness on Saturday next use no code, but say exactly the 
opposite of what you intend to do. My orders and 
advice will be sent in the same manner. When I say, 


ON A MARGIN 


403 


‘ Sell, ’ you will read ‘ buy. ’ Messages that are not to 
be acted on at all will be preceded by the word ‘ advis- 
able.’ Send me early to-morrow the words, ‘Fine 
weather to-day,’ so that I may know the suggestion is 
accepted.” 

This letter was carried into town by the faithful 
Jacques, who took it to a district messenger office not 
far from Kawson’s home. There he paid for its de- 
livery, followed the boy to Rawson’s doorstep, and 
then hastily made his way back to Tremont. 

The reader already knows the result. Catesberry 
and Joy were on the wrong side of every great move 
in the stock market, and, of course, met with crushing 
disaster. 

Unfortunately for Gilroy, he had not collected his bill 
for services during the days of success, and when he 
finally spoke to Catesberry about his promised fee and 
share of the spoils, it was on the heels of a staggering 
tumble in the very stocks that, acting on the secret in- 
formation, the clan had bought for a rise. N^othing 
could have been more inopportune. Catesberry 
turned on his expert, almost white with rage, and 
shouted : 

“You infamous whelp, I don’t see that you have 
performed any services. Everything we have had from 
you for ten days has resulted in disaster. I don’t 
believe you’ve got the wire at all.” 

“You forget, Catesberry, the successes of last 
month,” said Gilroy, undaunted by what he regarded 
as a trick to cheapen his wage. 


404 


ON A MARGIN. 


“It was my good luck, rather than your guessing.” 

“Guessing?” 

“Yes. I believe you ’ve been deceiving us from first 
to last. You haven’t run the wire down, as you said 
you would.” 

“I explained that,” Gilroy rejoined, curtly. 

“More lies, I suppose. It was because you didn’t 
know how. I now insist on your doing that part of 
the job. ” 

“But, Catesberry, I want my share of the win- 
nings ” 

“There isn’t a dollar left. You ’ll never get a cent 
from me until you find the infernal scoundrel at the 
other end of that wire. Curse him ! I hate him worse 
than ever.” 

“Suppose I communicate with Bawson ?” suggested 
Gilroy, in his most insulting manner, expecting to 
frighten Catesberry. 

“ Tell him, if you like. We have nothing to lose. 
My last cent’s gone.” 

“It might be bad for you.” 

“ There’s no statute covering this business. But 
burglars go to jail, and I ’d denounce you as the Gilroy 
who robbed the Limestone bank. Look out for your- 
self.” 

“ But I ’d also have something to tell.” 

“You were a convict before I met you, and no jury 
would believe a single word of your testimony,” was 
Catesberry’s quick retort. 

Then you refuse ?” asked Gilroy, ceasing to threaten, 


ON A MARGIN 


405 


“Yes; because you’re a blind ass. Don’t you see 
that Bawson has been fooling you, he and his infamous 
"pal’; that they have been sending wrong messages 
to lead us astray ; that you have betrayed yourself in 
some clumsy way, you idiot ?” shouted Catesberry, 
forgetting, in his anger, that he was logically estopped 
from admitting that Gilroy had intercepted any 
messages. 

“ So I’m to get nothing ?” 

“ Not a cent ; yes, here’s a quarter. Now, get out !” 
said Catesberry, in a contemptuous tone. 

Gilroy almost staggered to the door, and, dizzy with 
rage, found his way to the sidewalk. His first impulse 
was to go to Rawson and tell him the secret ; but, 
while he debated the wisdom of such a course in his 
mind, his feelings toward the AVizard underwent a radi- 
cal change. AVas not Rawson really to blame for the 
insults which had just been heaped upon him, for the 
loss of money and the want of success ? After all, 
Catesberry was right, only a fool could have failed 
to suspect and foresee trickery ! Nothing else was 
io have been anticipated. 

This made the desperate man more savage than 
before, and Catesberry was overlooked in a burst of 
aew wrath. He gave to Rawson the entire credit of 
outwitting and humiliating him. Thus was raised up 
against Rawson the most implacable and dangerous 
of all his foes in the person of a man whom the reck- 
less financier never had seen, and of whose existence, 
even, he was ignorant, 


406 


ON A MARGIN 


Gilroy wandered about the streets, moody and an- 
tagonistic. At nightfall he sought his lodgings, and, 
supperless, went to bed. 

Hour after hour, he tossed about muttering impre- 
cations upon Kawson’s head. 

When daylight at last appeared, it revealed the few 
articles which lay scattered about the room. The first 
objects he recognized were his pair of “climbers” — 
the steel appliances fastened to the boots of the line- 
men, by the aid of which they ascend the telegraph 
poles. He had an inspiration. He’d kill Kawson I 

In his trip along the wire to Harlem, he had en- 
countered a pole in Madison Square, on which an 
electric light cable crossed only a few inches above the 
line that tied Eawson to his other self. He knew the 
place exactly, and, dressed as a iineman, he could 
readily gain access to the fixture on top. Once there, 
he could cut off the wrapping of the electric light 
conduit, call up his victim, and then, by bringing the 
two w'ires in contact, finish him at a blow. 

This didn’t seem like murder, because detection was 
impossible. 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 

TRUE TO THEIR PROMISES. 

“ Men’s evil manners live in brass, 

Their virtues we write in water.” 

—Henry VIII. iv. 2. 

. Poor old Cotton tried to feel that he ought not to be 
so wretched and unhappy. He had only one step yet 
to take* to secure his long-cherished revenge — the pub- 
lication of the list of corrupted United States Senators 
and Congressmen. Everything was prepared, even to 
an engraved fac-simile of each man’s signature — as it 
stood on the back of his check. 

A complete history of the conception, rise and pur- 
pose of the National Improvement Company was 
already in type, and the blow was only delayed until 
arrangements could be made to have Walter Rawson 
interviewed by The Typhoon.^ a most respectable journal 
published for the very best people, and in no wise 
identified with him. In that projected conversation, 
which had been carefully contemplated in all its 
features, Rawson was to wipe away every breath of 
suspicion connecting him with the Mississippi infamy. 
He would cite the oft-repeated warnings given to his 
personal friends, the very admonition that had sufficed 
to make everybody greedy for the scrip. 


407 


40S 


ON A MARGIN 


Rawson’s character was to be entirely reburnished at 
the expense of the missing Cotton Mather. The blow 
given the professional politician was to be cruel and 
pitiless. No mercy ; no pardon ! Anything and 
everything was to be resorted to that would make 
universal a popular recognition of Congressional im- 
probity, faithlessness, disloyalty, dishonesty, shabbi- 
ness, meanness, baseness, abjection, turpitude, knavery, 
and roguery. The victims of this vengeance were to be 
made to fully feel their disgrace, ignominy, infamy, 
degradation, perfidiousness, perjury and double deal- 
ing. From among the untainted statesmen* the 
avenger had selected the names of twenty who were to 
be appointed on special committees of investigation 
which he would force the Speaker to create at the 
direction of resolutions which he would find means to 
compel the craven members to pass. He’d be present 
at the sessions of the Committees — suddenly restored 
to life to confront the ingrates. Ah ! he’d put their 
names into the pages of history ! His taunts would 
strike home every time ! He’d hoot, ridicule, and re- 
proach them ! How he’d turn them off with a wave of 
his hand when they approached to sue for pity — for 
oblivion ! He drew out his notebook, and conned over 
the list. There were all the names of the doomed, set 
down in alphabetical order, with the date of their fall. 
This man he’d tattoo in letters of scarlet, for he was a 
hypocrite ; for another he’d order the knout in the 
committee room ; the next he’d bastinado in his Con- 
gressional district amid the peacefulness of his home 


ON A MARGIN 


409 


and constituents — where he only needed to be exposed 
to be despised — and so on to the end of the roll of the 
lost ones. 

♦ 

Never was hour more opportune. There had sud- 
denly burst upon the nation a revival of honesty — an 
epidemic that spread like the passion of the Crusades. 
Tlie tingle of the bell-punch was no longer heard in 
the cars upon the streets ; clerks in the shops made 
cliange for customers out of their own pockets. Bur- 
naby, with the magic and unpurchasable influence 
of the mighty Cyclone at his back, led it. He un- 
masked, with the ambidexterity of the surgeon, cor- 
ruption in society, malfeasance in public office, and 
embezzlement in trade ; he branded one institution as 
“The Bank of the Suicides,” because its cashiers 
always robbed it and then took their lives ; he un- 
frocked false shepherds who strove to lead their flocks 
from the pastures of orthodoxy to the stony wastes of 
agnosticism ; he tore out a dozen alleged charities, and 
drove the ghouls who fattened on children’s forfeited 
lives to prison or to exile. 

“Ila, ha!” chuckled Cotton, rubbing his hands till 
they blistered.. “Burnaby’s a valuable ally. He serves 
my purpose well, however unconscious a slave of 
my vengeance he may be. I’ m very glad he did not 
sell us TJie Cyclone. We couldn’t have managed it half 
so well. He will be on my side the moment the blow 
falls. He can’t avoid it.” 

But, that the agitation might last and the storm not 
spend itself too soon, one of the journals of “ the Blind 


410 


ON A MARGIN 


Pool ” would openly defend the course of the sub* 
sidized Congressmen, while the other pressed the 
attack with all possible bitterness and keenness. 

And yet, though the trap was ready. Cotton actually 
began to doubt whether this revenge would satisfy 
him. He felt the social desolation which he had 
courted, as he had not when he first immured himself. 
Then, too, his disease made slower progress than he 
had anticipated. Six years had passed since he had 
believed himself to be attacked wdth the mah-fung, 
since he had forsaken his identity and had curled him- 
self in his lair, like a wounded panther, to await Death. 
After all, his judgment about the Mississippi improve- 
ment had been the correct one. Time and events had 
shown Kawson that it was only created as a vehicle 
for moral regeneration by fire. The bodies of the 
rotten three hundred must go into the crematory of 
public opinion. Never was such bitterness as his seen 
in this world ! Only one active spot remained in his 
heart, and that throbbed with hatred. 

“ And, why not ?” he often asked, to reassure and 
Strengthen himself. “ What rew^ard had devotion to 
virtue, duty and justice secured him ? The first fifty 
years of a blameless life had brought a heritage of woe, 
of misery. 

From a purely ethical point of view, nothing could 
have been more pitiful than the picture of this deserted 
old man as he sat in his room one summer day and 
contemplated the final catastrophe in his career. He 
was an image of despair, of loneliness. One mental 


ON- A MARGIN. 


411 


gratification that had solaced him for years was gradu- 
ally ebbing away. He clung to tlie ravelling shreds of 
a contentment which he had cherished on account of 
the terrible disease that enforced and emphasized his 
misanthropy. 

’Tis very curious that, after the first shock of terror 
is overcome, there seems to be a peculiar satisfaction 
to the human mind in knowing that one has a deadly 
and incurable malady. It is, perhaps, ascribahle to 
latent traits of vanity so peculiar as to require circum- 
stances of this nature to develop them — the morbid 
feeling that the visage of Death is already known to us 
alone of all living men, and the hour of his visit ap- 
proximately fixed. 

For Mootla, curiously enough. Cotton’s heart had 
undergone a decided change. He had not seen her for 
six years, and he now recalled her as the living evi- 
dence of his first great humiliation. Happily married, 
he often rejoiced in a hope, almost as strong as 
belief, that his once beloved ward had forgotten him 
utterly. He had intended that part of the immense 
fortune which he and his confederate had amassed 
should go to Mootla ; but he now felt an unaccount- 
able indifference on the subject. He actuall}" argued 
with himself, at times, that the capital of “ the Blind 
Pool” was indivisible and belonged solely to the sur- 
vivor at the death of one of the partners. It was just 
as well, for Burnaby would not have permitted his wife 
to receive money accumulated as this had been. 

Cotton’s estimate of Mootla was as unfair and unjust 


41S 


OJSr A MARGIN. 


as that which he made of many other people. She had 
not forgotten him for an hour ; memories of her happy 
childhood were never absent, and in them he always 
held a place. She was wont to sit in the seclusion of 
her music room at times and go over the bright melo- 
dies that, in girloood, she had sung for “ dear Uncle 
Cotton.” She sincerely believed him dead, and had 
mourned him in her heart of hearts. Burnaby, despite 
the activity of his life, gave Mootla a true man’s love. 
He wasted no time in sentiment, but honored, humored 
and cheered the mother of his children. 

Still, of all these truths Cotton was ignorant, and it 
is doubtful if a knowledge of them would have made 
him less unhappy. If he lived a 3^ear longer, he would 
be content. That time would be ample for all his pur- 
poses. Only a few hours, or days, of patience and he 
would tear off the mask that covered without dis- 
guising the rottenness of national legislation. B}' united 
efforts, he and his confederate had crushed the political 
estate. 

Rawson had reduced nine-tenths of the commer- 
cial nabobs and land-grabbers to penuiy. The pro- 
fessional hero had become such an outcast that he had 
retired into his natural obscurity, and only existed 
with the aid of undeserved pension money, voted to 
him by his fellow conspirators in Congress. The pro- 
fessional politician was completely in the toils, and the 
executioner was grinding his knife. Onl}" a few daj’S 
more and the bloodj^ business would begin. 

Cotton sat in his room enjoying these thoughts when 


ON A MAttOIN 


413 


a call was heard on the sounding instrument. He 
listened. It was his signal for Walter. There must 
be some mistake. He waited. It was repeated. He 
would answer the call in Walter’s name ; he would 
find out what was wanted. Stepping to the table he 
opened his key and answered, in doing which his 
hand carelessly slipped from the button to the brass 
lever. 

A flash of unholy light filled the room and a shock 
followed, like the snapping of an iron bolt ! 

The old man gasped and fell back upon the floor, 
face upward. 

Over all, the silence of death. 

The only living creature in the house, the deformed 
valet, slumbered peacefully in a great chair on a shady 
part of the porch. He heard nothing. The sunshine 
on the broad road, outside the yard, and the shadows 
under the spreading maples within, showed no change. 
Nature is indifferent to the sorrows of man. 

When Jacques carried supper to the invalid he found 
a corpse. 

Without any manifestation of consternation, the 
hunchback set down the dishes on the nearest table 
and hobbled away to the Tremont police-station 
as fast as his crooked legs would carry him. There 
he reported the death of his master as well as his 
limited English vocabulary permitted. On the way 
back to the lonely house, he lay down at the side of 
the road and bemoaned the miserable fate that cast 
him again on a friendless world. 


414 


01^ A MAmm. 


Show me a heart that has no trace of selfishness ! 
Up to that moment, Jacques’ record had been without 
blemish. 

The coroner’s inquest on the following morning dis- 
closed the cause of death, without clearing up the mys- 
tery that surrounded it. The body was buried in a 
small cemetery on the brow of a neighboring hill over- 
looking the city of New York — that populous hive 
wherein are countless atoms of humanity with ghastly 
secrets in their keeping. There, his name shortened 
to an interrogation point,' rests the once famous and 
feared Cotton Mather, alias Kawson. His grave is 
unmarked, and the stranger will search for it Jn 
vain. 

Among the effects of the deceased recluse was found 
an attested certificate, a very impressive-looking docu- 
ment. It was in French. The wreXched man had 
died without knowing its contents. He never had had 
it interpreted, either because he dared not trust anj^- 
body with his horrible secret or feared to have his 
dreadful belief confirmed. Translated, the paper read 
thus : 

“Kesult of a consultation held at the Hospital of 
Staint Louis, Paris : 

“ This certifies that we have carefully examined 
patient Number 17,002 (nativity, United States of 
America ; age 70 years), and find that he has no organic 
disease. There are no traces of leprosy in any form. 
Some slight discolorations of his skin are probably due 
to trifling derangement of the liver ; but, generally 
speaking, there is nothing wrong in his physical condi- 


ON A MARGIN 415 

tion. lie is only a hypochondriac {11 n^est quhin 
malade ir.icujinaire). 

“ Felix Arnholdt, L’Hopital de Saint Louis ; 

“ Alex. Blauvelt, L’Hotel Dieu ; 

“ Henri Constant, L’Hopital de Saint Denis.’’ 

The dead man’s secret was never known to the world 
until now. Workmen who were digging a foundation 
for a turntable on the New York and Northern Rail- 
road unearthed a piece of his underground cable. 

The newspapers of the day following the unknown 
recluse’s death contained an account of a distressing 
accident on Broadway. At the hour when pedestrians 
were thickest on that great promenade, a man en- 
gaged in repairing the wires at the top of a tall tele- 
graph pole was seen to throw up his hands, and an 
instant later fell to the pavement, a corpse. The body 
lay at the Morgue the usual time, then went to the 
Potters’ Field. Gilroy had made his words good. He 
had killed somebody — himself. Rawson had escaped. 
True to his promise, Mather had stepped between him 
and retribution. 

Subsequent investigation by a lineman showed that a 
temporary telegraph office had been opened at the top 
of the pole. A small pocket sounding instrument and 
key, used by line repairers, was found fastened to one 
of the cross-bars with a thumb-screw. The man ap- 
parently had been testing a wire when he had carelessly 
laid his hand on the exposed surface of an electric cable 
supplying light for the cellars of the Fifth Avenue 
Hotel, and thus brought it into contact with the wire 


416 


ON A MARGIN 


on which he was at work. The expert declared that 
the current thus suddenly switched upon the telegraph 
line, through the arms of the man who was tampering 
with the wires, equalled 1,800 volts— enough to kill a 
hundred people. 

The private wire to Eawson’s house never worked 
again. No response came to the summonses which the 
broker repeatedly sent. Cotton had disappeared as 
mysteriously as he had returned from the dead. 

This fact affected Walter Eawson greatly. In the 
language of his rivals, the King of Wall Street “ lost his 
grip.” He became nervous and despondent. He for- 
sook speculation and turned philanthropist. He began 
the erection of great retreats for socially ostracised ex- 
Congressmen, comfortable hospitals to which they 
could retire and never again read a newspaper or see 
the face of a fellow-mortal. He took Hampton Court 
for a model, and provided a home for indigent profes- 
sional heroes, offering a bounty for them to write histo- 
ries of their actual or imaginary battles. He gave 
$10,000 to every county in the United States to be 
applied to improving the condition of its almshouse. 
He only retained a million of his countless wealth. He 
settled at a pretty little nook on Long Island Sound to 
end his days, living on $5,000 a year and dispensing the 
rest of his income among the needy. His career, with 
all its successes, had been a failure, because it lacked 
an essential element — happiness. 


[the end.] 


THE 

CMcago, Miliaiikee & St. Paul Ry 

I RUNS 

Electric Lighted and Steam Heated Vestibuled 
Trains between Chicago, Milwaukee, St. 
Paul and Minneapolis, daily. 

Through* Parlor Cars on day trains between 
Chicago, St. Paul and Minneapolis. 

Electric Lighted and Steam Heated Vestibuled 
Trains between Chicago and Omaha and 
Sioux City, daily. 

Eight Fast Trains, each way, daily, between 
Chicago and Milwaukee. 

Solid Trains between Chicago and principal 
points in Northern Wisconsin and the Penin- 
sular of Michigan. 

Through Trains with Palace Sleeping Cars, 
Free Chair Cars and Coaches between 
Chicago and points in Iowa, Minnesota, 
Southern and Central Dakota. 

The finest Dining Cars in the V/orld. 

The best Sleeping Cars. Electric Reading 
Lamps in Berths. 

The best and latest type of private Compartment 
Cars, Free Reclining Chair Cars and Buffet 
Library Smoking Cars. 

6,150 miles of road in Illinois, Wisconsin, North- 
ern Michigan, Iowa, Minnesota, Missouri, 
South Dakota and North Dakota. 

Everything First Class. 

First-Class people patronize First-Class Lines. 

Ticket Agents everywhere sell tickets over the 
Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul R’y, or 
address Geo. H. He afford. General Pas- 
senger Agent, Chicago, 111 . 



BETWEEN 


Chicago, La Fayette, 
Louisville. 


^5 


Chicago, Indianapolis, 
Cincinnati. 

....AND ALL POINTS SOUTH.... 


Pullman Vestibuled Coaches and Compartment Cars 
on Night Trains. 

Parlor Chair and Dining Cars on Day Trains. 

The Favorite Route to and from Florida Points. 
Quick Transit and Close Connections. 


FRANK J. REED, General Passenger Agent, 
MONON BLOCK, 

Chicago, III. 




Ayer’s 

Cure- 

book. 


A story of cures 
told by the cured. 
Sent free. J. C. 
Ayer Co., I,owell, 
Mass. 


Nak^ Pills are fit only 
for naked sav^es. Clothes 
mark civilization nsf pills or in 
people. A good pill fias a good 
coat. The good pill coat pleases the 
palate and is easily soluble in the 
stomach. Pill perfection is found 
in Ayer’s Cathartic Pills — sugar 
coated — the radical cure for consti- 
pation, biliousness and liver troubles. 





« % 
^ 


•r 

» i 


i' 

i'J 


^ i? 






' *'lj_ '■ ■?- • • .' i ‘ '"’ 

^IK^v '.I)' A » w' f' • V »V'’' -; 

,.■ ,- :5^‘i''Vv ■■■•(< -130^) 


'*< •'' ill . ■ 

/ >'. :• 


« % 


‘" ; 'T 

: • . 


M 

'"'^rV' 

•V>/f 


Tl 


-. •- 



.*i 


iV 


rv "''ij /> 


•i./* ^ 


I ... "V'i , 




I 5 ..',..y. 


•• '^V '/i. .:• 






. 4 


t r ; 






• JfV .‘ ^ • 

’T • t' 1 • • '•* 


I i 


» I 


. Y 


^ 1 .- 


r t. 


'. <V.;a, 

1 • ' 

’• L' 

4 

• /',r- 

\ . 


r*' 

}' 


‘iA f , 

. \ 

\ • 




' i ii ''^-t *>r,<-l>J' • I, . 


' y A ■'^\ • ■ i 

i • * ■» ■•* t 7 < i» ’’ 


■hi'' :^5V '.-■*. '. , 

*V. f !''•{*', 

- ' ‘Hs' k 

‘f- 


» ‘ 


I ' j 


■j -• ' 




■£'-f£££'r? 

V ; • o • 


S 




■>,'■ 


rj 





•!.:h 




■\ '4 




V> ♦'? 


v/i. i ; , >^.m. ■ . * 

- , .V* "* 

. \ r • . , ^ ^ , 


'•i\ i i . ' •■ ' 

■■ £yj£''' '£, - 

I I 


< • 




:• ’H 


• ' 


% »M 


. •< 

» ' « 


t * 





• .Lv. 




f 


f« ' 


ir>* « •'■ 

I 









.* -' 




• > ■ 

M 

« h- 


--■ -./i— '.’>'■ Cx h,. »j 

• » A' I’V * I'W. t / BWB^ jL At^' 

*/ * ' * * •' >y ' < tiSjSL. • ' 

I ^ . u . , . .'£^ ■• ' 


sy'; M 


» 


, T»- 

' J V« * ' 




» • i*- . 

I 


fc: 


'•■'revh 


‘S k 






1 


‘,> 


A 




V [ 


w • ' i M 







•aJ 

< ii 




^ • 


* (. 


' 1 


t 


m 


■/■.y 


. ' " , -f 1 W ♦ . , ^ ^ 



■‘ y-N 

' . ■ i] \ J 

,-, .V^'' <■ 

( I. . 




. . V-' ' 

mM'-' ^ 







• ^ *1 
■ > 

ft 


f*i k 

. ' - • » '►li V A; .,4 

“ •, • ‘ ’■ ‘r 



MHawBia %• 

. ..-f:’^' ... ’,'v '■f^V X'- • 

- . .1 ‘ •;"?.. ■ 




'•l > 


■' •, 



.4’ 

' " W;’ 'V' '• ^ 

Vr*. '•'. , ■ij' ' 

: ^ *; , , ■ 
1 ' • ^ . » . 
t£ 1 . ' ■ .Ilk ■ * ' 

y • I “ 

^ , i 

.1 ' I # ' 






I »* t 


t I 


h • 




, » '. 


f * 


I I 







'I 


*. ‘ ',« 

i I ' 




T 

» ^ f \ 

^ • .11 


m^. -i ' ■< ' 

? ‘cjv' m-. '■• 

■ /S"' 

4 .. . :y;« 


■ : ••■ ■•{w.mifiaaA ^v- \ , ' 'V 

■ ' .''-iv.'- : •' 

‘ ■k.i^rJMHQur 




r. 



A 


i 


■i-. 


/ 4 


f, ^ 1 * 


w 

■ tV‘ ' i 

*. ’ '-T 


r • , 

ji ■ 7 i*A'-''' " ■'' 

i '. .'/jS' • 


t 


, ; ■ 'h 


c . I 


{>v 


.‘j ^ hhhHU 


7 


i.j; 




« . 'I 


I \ , 

•» 


I'l '■ 



• », 


ft 


'.‘4 


\> » »-i 

Jr:vr 


W' 


AtfiS 



» . 




V I 


V i 


If 

X t y : 


i . 



4 t 


1 . 

• •» i 4 (' 


1 . 


►T, 


• t 


\ 

A 


>,1 


/ ' 




• » 


L 


• » 


> \ 


‘pj 


' .• 


i 


ii 


'/i' 


K. • 


EJSJr i%' .o' ; . 

r I ' , I I * . • t *, J|nu ♦ * 

. ■ ‘.W.y 



\ 


1 


vl*.'. 


-1 ’i 4 , 









